


Errors of My Ways

by Katef



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Partner Betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katef/pseuds/Katef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the badge offer, Blair feels the need to take some time out to get himself together.<br/> Unfortunately, Jim takes his request the wrong way and reacts badly. Heartbroken, Blair leaves anyway, and while doing voluntary work in Colombia, is abducted and presumed dead.<br/> A devastated Jim reluctantly moves on with his life, and then the miracle happens, and Blair returns from the dead....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Errors of My Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Story title is taken from a favourite track by Wishbone Ash (1970)  
> Written for the TS Anniversary BB 2016, a full-colour version with beautiful illustrations by the amazing Bonanza and Pattrose can be found at http://sentinelbigbang.com/2016/13/index.html. Check out the other great stories and artwork while you're there :))
> 
> Thanks once again to Sheila (Bluewolf)for the super-fast beta, and for her continuing encouragement.  
>  Thanks also to Patt for cheerleading, and to both Morgan and Patt for organising another very special Big Bang.

**Part 1: The Road to Hell**   


**Jim:**  


“A Sentinel will always be a Sentinel if he chooses to be.” Incacha had said that, in so many words. 

Jim recalled the dead Chopec shaman with a wistful fondness that was coloured by a touch of mild aggravation and a great deal of pain. Aggravation on the grounds of the man’s dogged persistence while he was attempting to train the newly-awakened sentinel in Captain James Ellison, stranded alone and helpless in the Peruvian jungle after the helicopter crash that killed all his team, and bitter pain and loss for the wise and gentle shaman gunned down on Cascade’s mean streets. The only reason Jim had kept his sanity and regained his gift after that traumatic episode was through the persistence of another. His true guide, according to the dying Incacha, to whom the Chopec had passed the Way of the Shaman. Blair Sandburg. Irritating, hyper-active grad student Super Genius, and the best friend a man could want. A man Jim had grown to love, then had hurt so badly that he had all but extinguished the joy in his younger companion. 

And now that companion was gone, and Jim had no desire to hold on to the gift of his enhanced senses any more. Now he was just plain Detective Ellison. A good cop still, but without the ‘edge’ that had taken him (and Blair, it should be said, although it was never officially admitted) to the top of the PD’s arrest and conviction ‘league tables’ for several years. But without Blair’s loyal backup and guidance, the senses were so much harder to control, so after his partner left, he began to use them less and less. 

And once he was convinced that Blair was never coming back, he shut them off for good. 

Oh yes, he knew that many of his colleagues now recognised that Blair hadn’t lied about the dissertation. They were detectives, after all, and word had gradually spread throughout the PD to that effect, but it was too little, too late as far as Sandburg was concerned, since he had already trashed his academic career for Jim. Jim knew in his heart of hearts that the offered olive branch of a detective’s shield couldn’t compensate for the destruction of his guide’s life, and shouldn’t really have been surprised when Blair had turned it down, albeit with genuine expressions of gratitude for the effort made on his behalf. 

Sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen with unfocussed eyes, Jim relived the painful exchange once again, his gut tightening in self-disgust.  


**18 months previously, the loft:**  


“I’m sorry, man. I know you and Simon meant well, and I can’t thank you enough for trying to find a way for me to stay, but I can’t do it. It wouldn’t work on so many fronts, man, not least in that I’d never be accepted in the PD as a whole; however supportive folks in Major Crimes have been on my behalf. I’m a self-confessed fraud, Jim, so just think what Defence Attorneys would make of that the moment I set foot in the witness box? They’d have a field day, and rightly so. 

“And how would it look if I was still riding with you? The rest of the cops would wonder why, especially if I was still living here with you too, and they’d soon put two and two together. You can’t let them do that, Jim. If they realise the truth, the whole press conference would have been worthless. 

“I’ll always be your friend, Jim, and even if I’m no longer living under your roof, I’ll make sure you can always contact me if you need my help. I won’t abandon you, I promise. I just need to get away for a while – give myself some space to get my head together and decide what I’m going to do with my life. And then I’ll be back, I promise. It’s not as if you’ll be back in the field for a few weeks yet anyway what with that leg wound, and it’ll give both of us some time to cool off and think about where we want to go from here. 

“Please say you understand, man. I really don’t want to argue anymore.” 

Lips thinned in anger and no little self-pity, Jim knew now that he’d been unfair in his response, but back then he hadn’t been able to control his affronted feelings and self-righteous indignation at having his grand gesture thrown back in his face. 

“So that’s it, is it, Sandburg? An offer of a badge and a proper job with a paycheque isn’t good enough for you? And what about me? It’s all very well you saying you’ll still be there for me, but just how do you intend to manage that if you’re not even in Cascade? Seems to me you’re abandoning me – and our partnership – whatever you say. 

“Go ahead, then. Take off. It’s what your mother would do, isn’t it? She couldn’t get out of here fast enough after me and Simon threw you that badge. But if it’s not too much trouble,” he had continued, voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Let me know where you end up. Just so’s I know. 

“Now, I’m going out,” and he had stomped out of the loft with as much offended dignity as he could manage while using a cane; not looking back and deliberately blanking Blair’s vain attempt to smooth things over. 

“Jim, man, no! That’s not fair, man. Let’s talk this over….” But Jim had slammed the door on his plea and taken himself off to visit Simon at home, intending to get good and drunk commiserating with his old friend and boss.  


\---------------------------------  


Coming back to the present, Jim grimaced in distress, the hurt still too deep especially in the light of what had happened next. 

When the cab dropped Jim at 852 Prospect the following morning, nursing a foul temper and the hangover from hell, he returned to a pristine but empty apartment. Blair had cleaned out every last vestige of his presence, including the exotic foodstuffs from the refrigerator and his weird herbal teas, and all that was left was a note on the kitchen counter. Grabbing the note with a combination of dread and fury, Jim had ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper within. 

_Dear Jim,_ it said.  


_Man, I am so sorry to do this this way, but I couldn’t deal with any more attempts at explaining myself to you face-to-face. I’m so tired, Jim, and you so obviously didn’t want to listen, so I’m hoping that this note will do the trick instead._

I’m sure by now you’re already accusing me of deserting you just like everyone else has done, but I promise you, Jim, that it isn’t my intention. I love you, Big Guy, but I need a bit of space to get my head together and do something for myself for a few weeks. 

So anyway, I’m going to Colombia for a month or so, doing some voluntary teaching. One of my friends from Rainier who’s still speaking to me works for a charitable organisation, and he asked me just after the diss mess if I’d like to offer my services at a school for disadvantaged and orphaned kids. 

So I said yes, Jim. I need to do this for me – for us – because I’m no use to you while we’re still so much at odds. 

It won’t be forever, and I should be back before you’re fully active again, so perhaps we can start again? Really talk? 

I hope so, man, I really do. 

But if you want me gone for good, I’ll understand. Won’t like it, but I’ll understand. Just let me know, and I’ll stay in Colombia for as long as it takes. And I won’t bother you again, even if it hurts to keep away. 

Be careful out there, man. 

Love you 

Blair. 

Jim’s initial reaction had been predictable, and he crumpled up the innocent piece of paper and threw it viciously across the kitchen. 

“Damn you, Sandburg! You chickenshit, leaving me like this!” But the next moment he was on his hands and knees despite the pain from his injured leg, scrabbling to retrieve the screwed up scrap and smooth out the creases; reading and re-reading while he tried to make sense of his tumbling emotions. 

Thinking back, Jim recalled being angry, for sure, and deeply hurt. But also he remembered feeling bereft and guilty, and knew in his heart of hearts that he had driven his best friend away, perhaps for good. He’d done this, and now he’d have to live with the consequences. 

Not that it was all his fault. Blair had made his own mistakes, but he had paid a far higher price for them. Much more so than had Jim at the end of the day. 

Sighing in reluctant acceptance of the poignant memories, Jim tightened his jaw as he allowed himself to consider where he was now, and why.  


\---------------------------------  


**Fifteen months previously, Simon Banks’ office, Cascade PD MCU:**  


“Ellison! My office, now!” Jim raised his head and gazed for a moment at his friend and captain’s face as the man peered around his office door, a little perplexed by the considerably milder tone and reduced volume of the traditional barked command. 

Rising to his feet, Jim pushed away from his desk, still slightly favouring his knee which had a tendency to twinge once in a while after being static for too long. His senses were dialled down, as they had been during the three long months of Sandburg’s absence, so he missed entirely the speculative glances and murmured comments that his colleagues directed at his departing back. Arriving at Banks’ door, Jim rapped once and entered, his expression quizzical as he regarded his friend and captain. 

“You wanted me for something, Simon? I’ve finished and submitted the report about the Milliband bust already, and as far as I know there’s nothing else outstanding. Even managed to catch up with the routine stuff all on my own,” he added sarcastically, obliquely referring to the widely-voiced opinion that he couldn’t survive without Sandburg’s freely-offered typing and linguistic skills. 

But this time Simon didn’t offer the expected riposte. Instead he gestured to his subordinate to take a seat, and continued to regard Jim with solemn eyes as he did so. 

“OK, Simon, out with it! What’ve I done this time?” Jim tried for humour even as he realised that there was something very wrong, but he was both desperate and reluctant to hear what his friend had to say; gut instinct warning him that it was something to do with Sandburg. 

“I’m sorry, Jim. I know you don’t want to hear this, but Blair’s gone. I mean, as in disappeared,” he added hastily, seeing Jim’s face blanch at the thought that his erstwhile guide and partner might already be dead. 

“Look, Jim, I know it sounds bad, but from what I understand, Blair was abducted from the classroom in the school where he was teaching – possibly by left-wing insurgents like FARC, but more likely by members of one of the local drug cartels – and his whereabouts and condition are presently unknown. I was contacted this morning by someone from the DEA’s office who arrived at the scene shortly after, and he was following up on any and every bit of available evidence, which included finding out about Blair and his reasons for being there. 

“It’s a mess, Jim, and there’s little more to tell you right now. But I have to ask. These senses of yours? All that voodoo shit about spiritual connections I didn’t want to hear about before? Can you feel…do you know if he’s dead?” 

And an objective part of Jim’s consciousness was amazed to see the real worry and affection in his boss’ eyes. 

Sure, he had realised soon enough that Simon had grown quite fond of Blair in a growly, off-hand sort of way, but he realised now for the first time that the man really cared about his erstwhile partner, and the knowledge hit him like a sledgehammer. 

It was true. Blair was held in affection and high esteem by far more people than the young man would have believed, diss mess notwithstanding, and it wasn’t just Jim who was upset by his continuing absence. 

Or would be when they learned of his disappearance. 

Shaking himself out of his momentary stupor, Jim fixed his friend with a despairing gaze. 

“I…I don’t know Simon. I mean, I always thought I could tell, but now I’m not sure. I dialled down the senses within hours of Blair walking out on me, and I’ve never really dialled them up again. I don’t feel as if he’s dead, but I can’t say for sure. 

“But if he’s still alive, what are we and the other authorities doing about it? What are they doing to get him back?”  


\---------------------------------------  


**Present day:**  


More than a year later, Jim was still asking the same questions, but with far less urgency. He was resigned to the fact that Sandburg wouldn’t be coming back – ever. Although he refused to actually verbalise the word ‘dead’ - because after all, there was no body as yet, if realistically it could ever be found - he was certain now that his friend no longer inhabited the land of the living. However, a small part of him chose to believe that perhaps Blair still existed on another plane somewhere, and in time they would meet up again. 

And Jim promised himself that when they did, he would apologise and ask for his guide’s forgiveness. If he hadn’t acted like a prize asshole and selfish bastard, Blair would never have gone to Colombia, and would in all probability still live at the loft, as safe and sound as Cascade’s resident trouble magnet could hope to be. But his unreasonable pride and self-pity had prevented him from trying to stop Blair from leaving, and had continued to hold him back from contacting his friend and asking him to return, and then it was too late. 

Sighing heavily, and once more aware of the dull ache of loss that still had the power to cause his chest to tighten and heart to clench in pain, Jim thought back to the weeks following Blair’s kidnapping. And could not help but wonder whether there was anything else they could have done to find him.  


\----------------------------------  


Immediately after Simon had given him the news Jim had begun a frantic campaign to search for his friend, contacting and continually pestering local law enforcement agencies and the US Embassy, plus more clandestine contacts from his special ops past, but despite his pushing, nothing turned up. All his friends and colleagues in the PD threw their weight behind the search, even Simon, who did what he could, pulling whatever strings he had at his disposal, but to no avail. Blair had gone without a trace. 

Jim knew that the DEA and Colombia’s US embassy staff took Blair’s disappearance seriously, as indeed they would in the case of any US citizen. However, in all honesty, in the on-going battle against the drug cartels and in the face of local political unrest he was just one relatively unimportant civilian casualty, and there was a limit to the time and effort that could be justified in an apparently fruitless search. And Jim was grimly aware that the unofficial view was that Blair was dead already, since there had been no ransom demand for his return – not that the US government would have negotiated with the kidnappers anyway since it was against accepted policy. 

But Jim would have. He told himself that he would have spent his last dime in ransom payment if it could have returned Blair to him, but there was never a hint of a communication. 

As the weeks passed with still no sign of Blair, Jim’s determination and frenetic energy levels began to dwindle along with his conviction that Sandburg was still alive, until one day he woke in his empty loft knowing that there was no hope. With a face wet from tears of bitter grief for his loss, Jim realised that his continuing search was in vain, and that it was time to let go. And the place in his heart where his guide had resided gaped open and hollow, matching the Blair-shaped space in his soul, and he knew he would never be the same again.   


\--------------------------------------  


Jim had returned to the PD that day, a shadow of his former self and devoid of any inclination to do anything but his job to the best of his ability. The senses, which he had attempted to resurrect during his search with little success or control were now turned off. Without Blair he didn’t want them. If they hadn’t helped him protect or find his guide, they were of no use to him as far as he was concerned. He eschewed the company of his colleagues, becoming the moody, irascible loner of pre-Sandburg days, only worse, and former friends eventually gave up the effort of trying to break through his brittle new shell. 

All except Simon, who had put up with his mood-swings and unrelenting glowering with commendable patience and aplomb. 

And then one evening, about six weeks previously, everything had changed again. 

Jim had gone for a few beers with Simon after work to attempt to relax a little and celebrate having finally put to bed a big, inter-department case. Jim had gone undercover as a minor drug dealer in order to infiltrate a much bigger gang, and had played the role with some success. Enough to make the difference between rounding up most of the main players rather than just the small fry, and the heads of the departments involved were generous in their praise. 

But all Jim could think of was that if Blair had been with him, and he could still use his senses as they should be used, the bust might have been even more successful. He knew he was being unduly cynical and ungrateful, but hadn’t the energy or inclination to make nice with people who meant nothing to him. Except Simon. 

And much later that night, after his boss had taken an inebriated Jim back to the loft, Jim had finally broken down and cried for his lost guide, sobbing out his grief on Simon’s broad shoulder. 

The following morning Jim had awoken to find Simon in his bed, and they had been together ever since.  


\-------------------------------  


So now here he was, if not actually whole, at least functioning like a normal and decent human being again. He couldn’t exactly say that what he felt for Simon was love, but it was certainly affection, and gratitude for the man’s support and comfort over the last few weeks. He still missed Blair dreadfully, and always would, but he was beginning to feel as if life could go on after all, even if it would never again be as stimulating and entertaining as life with Blair. 

And it wasn’t as if he and Blair had been lovers. He was pretty certain they had been heading that way before Alex, and that awful night when he had read Blair’s opening chapter despite the grad student’s request that he not do so. Even now he still fantasised that they could have gotten over those obstacles, and the subsequent diss mess, and they would have moved on to the next step and become partners in all ways. Despite their problems, his love for Blair was a given, and it wasn’t as if Jim didn’t find his roommate attractive, as he was sure Blair hadn’t been indifferent to him. The spirit merge at the fountain that he had tried so hard to dismiss from his thoughts still continually reminded him of what he had learned of his partner, and his partner’s abiding love and admiration for Jim. But it hadn’t happened, mostly due to Jim’s own wariness and reticence as he was ruefully aware, and there was no point in beating himself up now over what-might-have-been. 

He was jolted from his reverie by a big hand clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Time to go, Jim,” Simon rumbled, grinning down at his subordinate and lover with that warmth reserved for his son Daryl and for Jim. “You’ve done enough for today, and I’m hungry. What say we grab a steak at Barney’s Bar on the way home?” 

Returning Simon’s smile with a slightly wistful one of his own, Jim nodded agreeably. 

“Sure, why not? I think we deserve a treat,” and he shut down his computer and accompanied Simon from the office, a stray thought occurring to him that if Blair were here he would have objected strenuously to their choice. And he couldn’t prevent the small, sad internal smile as he recalled the younger man’s voice. 

_‘Aww, come on man! All that red meat! And I just know you’re going to have the fully-loaded baked potato also, aren’t you? Think of your arteries, Jim!’_

No, Blair might be gone, but he would never be forgotten.  


\-------------------------------------  


**Part 2: Blair:**  


When the door had slammed with finality behind Jim, Blair’s first instinct was to grab the nearest heavy object and hurl it at the smooth surface in fury. But that urge was swiftly replace by hurt, resignation and misery as he realised that this was it. Jim didn’t want to know about his guide’s hopes and fears, and there was no point in trying to force the issue. Jim’s larger-than-life obsessions about trust and abandonment plainly overrode any attempt at a sensible and objective discussion, and that situation wasn’t about to change any time soon. 

Blair sank down on the nearest chair, and rested his head in his hands for a long moment while he did his best to pull himself together. He realised now that the best thing he could do was to get out of Jim’s space and his life for a while at least, hoping that time apart would allow each of them to think things through rationally and decide what was the best way forward. 

He was so grateful that his friend Rafael had provided him with the opportunity to make that break a productive and pro-active experience, hoping that by throwing himself into teaching disadvantaged kids he could both make himself useful and keep himself from brooding more than necessary on what he had left behind. 

And what he so much hoped to return to if Jim could bring himself to forgive if not forget. 

Sighing deeply, he scrubbed his face with his hands, then rose to his feet, his determination to do the right thing hardening as he set about clearing out his belongings with stoicism and speed. 

The task hadn’t taken as long as he had expected, since many of his belongings were still boxed up from when Jim had thrown him out of the loft during the ‘Alex Affair’, so it was a simple matter of packing up the remainder and clearing out the kitchen, bathroom and his tiny bedroom. 

Having taped up the last of his boxes, and taken the trash out to the dumpster in the alley, Blair sat down for a moment to look around for possibly the last time at the first place he had called ‘home’. He spent a few moments recalling some of the many happy memories his life here conjured up before reaching for his backpack. He pulled out an envelope and a small writing pad, and, screwing up his courage, penned a note to Jim. 

That done, and not without a few tears, he took most of the boxes down to the basement storage area, figuring that either Jim would keep them for him until his return, or send them on should he deny Blair the opportunity to come home to the loft. 

Or then again, he might just trash them, but Blair couldn’t bring himself to care if that was the case. Life without Jim would be hard, and the loss of a few material possessions wouldn’t make that much difference in the long run. 

Glancing around once more, he swiped impatiently at the obstinate wetness on his cheeks then, placing the envelope carefully on the kitchen counter, he turned to leave. Dropping his keys in the basket on the table beside the door, he slammed the door behind him, the sound like a death-knell for a friendship he hadn’t expected, but had come to treasure above all else in his life thus far.  


\--------------------------------------  


The next 48 hours passed in a blur of activity, for which Blair was heartily grateful. Between getting his paperwork sorted and arranging transport to the airport for his flight to Bogota, and meeting with his travelling companions from the charity he had little time to brood, which was a blessing as far as he was concerned. He spent the nights crashed on Rafael’s sofa, taking the opportunity to find out as much as he could about the charity’s organisation and aims in late-night chats with Rafael and the other two students who were travelling out with Blair this time around. It certainly kept his mind off his own problems, at least during waking hours, but as expected, the nights brought about a return of his despair and loneliness with the result that he dreaded trying to get any worthwhile sleep. 

Nevertheless, he was determined to do his best for his friend, so grateful was he for the offer which had been made when he most needed it. 

He had known Rafael Santiago for several years now, since the other man had taken up a TA position in the Social Science Department. Rafael was a handsome and friendly soul from a well-to-do family with their roots in Colombia, and Blair knew that his parents had harboured hopes of him joining the priesthood. 

However, Rafael had had other ideas, and although he was a practising Christian, he admitted that he felt no ‘calling’ or real desire to enter the seminary and had transferred to Rainier instead to study sociology and anthropology. That being said, he was happy to volunteer his services to the charitable Trust his parents held dear, taking on some of the responsibility for recruiting suitable temporary teachers and aid workers from the ranks of Rainier’s student body. There were plenty of students seeking work experience either from a sense of adventure or real vocation amongst other varied reasons, and it was Rafael’s task to sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. 

Blair learned that the Trust itself was the brain-child of a group of wealthy church-goers who had been horrified to hear of the dire conditions in which so many Colombian children were forced to exist and who had set up a fund to cover the basic living costs and travel expenses of volunteers willing to give freely of their time and expertise for a short spell of teaching and/or working within poor communities. As a consummate teacher and humanitarian, the idea appealed immensely to Blair and he was only too happy to offer his services. 

On the third night at Rafael’s apartment, the night before Blair and his two fellow volunteers were due to fly out to Bogota, his companions retired early to bed, leaving him and Rafael alone to continue their conversation. Penny and Marion were nice people – young, earnest and idealistic – but not the type of personality to attract Blair other than as passing acquaintances and co-workers even though he respected where they were coming from. And it appeared that his host felt the same way, although both young men were too generous in nature to dwell on the topic or make disparaging or judgemental comments to that effect. 

Instead, once they were settled comfortably with a last companionable beer, Rafael leaned forward in his seat and fixed Blair with a speculative gaze, head tilted to one side as he considered his friend. 

Feeling a little uncomfortable under his friend’s scrutiny despite its unthreatening nature, Blair chuckled nervously as he returned the look with a perplexed one of his own. 

“What’s up, man? Have I got spinach in my teeth or what?” 

Grinning widely, Rafael replied, “No, Blair. Nothing like that, really. It’s just that I can’t help but wonder why you’re so keen to leave Cascade. I mean, I don’t believe for a second that you lied about your dissertation, my friend. No one who knows you could believe that you fabricated that paper. 

“And don’t bother to deny it!” he said, forestalling Blair’s attempt to do just that. “Chancellor Edwards was way out of line when she fired you, and I approve of your loyalty to your subject, and admire and respect your self-immolation on his behalf. Just hope he appreciates it also! 

“But why do you have to leave? Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful that you signed up for my church’s programme. You’re a fantastic teacher, and if anyone can help those kids in the short term, it’ll be you. 

“But what is your sentinel –I mean, your ‘detective friend’ - going to do without you to back him up?” 

Completely thrown for a loop, Blair was speechless for long moments, and his expression was so stricken that Rafael moved over to sit beside him, throwing a comforting arm around his shoulders. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, Blair! I didn’t mean to pry or upset you. It’s just that I like you, Blair, and I hate to see a good man suffer for his beliefs. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” and he pulled Blair close in a genuine gesture of affection and support. 

And that proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back as far as Blair’s emotional state was concerned. Although never one to hide his feelings when it came to others’ pain or the fall-out from disasters natural or man-made, yet Blair had long been used to keeping himself to himself, it being safer that way, and less likely to end in heartbreak and disappointment. No one, not even Jim, had been allowed into the core of Blair’s inner self, although Jim had probably gotten closest especially after the merge. Even Naomi had little idea of her son’s hidden depths, never having stayed around long enough to really understand him. 

But while he was at his lowest ebb, the kindliness and sympathy Rafael showed him finally broke down his barely-sustained barriers. 

Despite his best efforts, tears began to fall, and he buried his face in his bigger friend’s shoulder, accepting with gratitude the soothing circles Rafael rubbed on his shaking back while he cried for the loss of his sentinel and his academic credibility. 

Several minutes later, an embarrassed and mortified Blair raised a wet and puffy face, his eyes red-rimmed and apologetic as he shyly met Rafael’s understanding gaze. 

“Gods, I’m sorry, man. I so didn’t mean to melt down on you like that,” and he tried to pull away. 

But Rafael was having none of it, and held on tighter. 

“It’s OK, Blair. I’m honoured that you feel you can trust me with your pain, and I promise you I shall do nothing to make you regret letting go in my presence. I may not have the necessary gifts to aspire to the priesthood, but I hope I can tell when a friend needs a shoulder to cry on, and I don’t mean that disparagingly either!” and he smiled gently before dropping a chaste kiss on Blair’s brow. 

Stunned but feeling so much better, Blair offered his friend a tiny grin as he murmured, “Thanks, Rafael. You don’t know how much it means to me that you haven’t judged me, and that you accept me for what I am. For what it’s worth, coming from a lapsed Jew,” and here his grin turned wry and self-deprecating, “I think you’d have made a great priest. You’ve got just the right temperament for the confessional, and I already know your heart’s in the right place. 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” and Rafael nodded in response, his own appreciation clear in his eyes. 

It wasn’t until Blair was once more snuggled up on his sofa and Rafael was in his own bed that he realised that yet again Blair had deflected attention away from himself, and focussed on his host instead. Smiling ruefully in fond exasperation, Rafael thought about the enigma that was Blair Sandburg, and hoped against hope that the young man found the salvation and justification he was looking for in Colombia.  


\--------------------------------------  


**Two days later, Bogota, Colombia:**  


Blair shifted in his seat as he looked around him, taking in the well-equipped but utilitarian office where he sat with his two companions awaiting their introduction to the chief administrator for the Trust’s centre in Bogota. They had been met at the airport by a friendly local driver who loaded them and their relatively small amount of luggage into an elderly but well-maintained minibus with the logo ‘St Francis of Assisi Mission House’ emblazoned on the side panel, to be driven some distance out to the area where the charity’s main centre was located. As the three volunteers took in the scenery, passing through some noticeably poor and run-down suburbs, Blair couldn’t help but notice how much quieter and more reserved Penny and Marion were becoming. He guessed that their idealism, missionary zeal and theoretical knowledge of the extent of Colombia’s poverty hadn’t prepared them for the real thing and he sighed internally. They were going to find it quite a shock to the system to actually have to roll their sleeves up and tackle the reality of their situation. 

Blair himself had had some previous experience, having travelled widely with Naomi in South America during his youth, so he was aware of the pitfalls awaiting the unwary in many areas. However, although Naomi might be ‘out there’ in terms of her hippy-style outlook, she wasn’t naïve or stupid when it came to taking unnecessary risks, so they hadn’t had to deal with any more difficulties than they could reasonably manage. 

There again, kidnapping for ransom in Colombia had reached epic proportions in recent years, so he knew that they would all have to be wary, particularly as American citizens. Plenty of people resented US influence both in the political arena and in the fight against drug dealing and production, and the fragmentation of the big drug cartels after the death of Pablo Escobar only made the situation more complicated. Blair understood that many of these ‘baby cartels’ now fell under the protection of the right-wing para-military AUC, who were just as likely to resort to kidnapping as the rebel FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) and ELN (National Liberation Army) groups. It was a difficult and uneasy situation to say the least, and affected many innocent people, particularly in rural areas. And it was the children of those displaced people that Blair hoped to teach. 

His train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of two men, both attired as priests, but very different in appearance. 

The first man was around six feet tall, with a good physique that suggested that he wasn’t afraid of physical activity. Blair guessed his age as being around fifty or so judging by the thick, salt-and-pepper hair and the fine lines and crowsfeet etched on his tanned face. He looked somewhat austere until his face lit up with a smile that caused his eyes to twinkle with genuine welcome and affability. 

His companion was somewhat shorter, around Blair’s own height of five feet seven inches, and appeared to be several years younger. His features and skin tone suggested Hispanic/local Indian parentage, and he too offered the three new arrivals a friendly grin. 

Settling themselves comfortably opposite their guests, both men eschewed their desks in favour of a more informal seating arrangement, no doubt with the deliberate intention of putting the newcomers at their ease. 

Smile widening, and bright-eyed glance embracing all three, the bigger man spoke, his voice and tone rich and in Blair’s opinion, eminently suited to the pulpit. 

“Good morning. I hope you all slept well and found your accommodations adequate?” 

At the nods and quiet affirmative replies from all three he continued. “Good, good! I know that it’s not the best flight from Cascade, so I’m sure you’ll have needed to rest up after your long journey. Alas, however generous our patrons at St Francis’ church in Cascade, I know the funds don’t run to business class air tickets, even for us!” and he chuckled wryly, his good humour serving to put his visitors at ease. 

“However, I should introduce myself and my colleague. I am Father Brendan Malone, and I have the honour of running this establishment. I also have overall responsibility for our other enterprises, of which I’ll tell you more in due course. My colleague and friend here is Father Rodrigo Ruiz, and he is my second-in-command, so to speak. He takes on much of the routine work, for which I am eternally grateful. I would have a hard time of it without his support,” and he turned to offer an appreciative smile to his companion. 

Switching his attention to Penny, he smiled warmly and addressed her kindly. “You must be Penny Cummings. Welcome to Bogota, Penny, and thank you for offering your services. I understand you are studying Social Sciences at Rainier?” 

Blushing shyly, Penny smiled back, murmuring, “Yes, Father. I’m in my third year, and wanted to do some practical volunteer work before I decide what career path I want to follow. Um…I’ve always wanted to do some sort of missionary work, and hope that this opportunity will help me find out if I have the capability.” 

“An admirable goal, Penny, and a very sensible idea. I very much hope that this experience will settle your mind so you can make an informed decision, young lady. 

“Now,” he continued, turning to Marion. “So you’re Marion Pendleton. I know your uncle well, my dear. A staunch member of the church, and a very generous benefactor. And our mutual friend Rafael thinks very highly of you. You’re studying medicine, are you not?” 

Marion smiled widely, the action lighting up her normally solemn and earnest expression, making her almost pretty. Blair certainly approved of the change, as, apparently did his companions. 

“Yes, Father Malone. I’m also in my third year, and I wanted to make use of what I’ve learned so far. Uncle Ralph has told me a lot about you and the Trust, so I wanted to come and see for myself. 

“But I have to say, Father, that what I’ve seen so far has been something of a shock. I didn’t realise that I was so very naïve,” she added candidly, and her expression sobered again at the confession. 

“Understandable, my dear. And no doubt it has been the same for both of you. You’re both young, and I suspect neither of you have been exposed before to poverty or potential violence of the like you expect to witness here, am I right? But don’t worry about your safety, ladies. I promise you we won’t be sending you out into dangerous neighbourhoods, and you will be accompanied at all times when you need to go out and about. 

“At this point, if you’ll forgive me for a moment before getting around to you, Blair,” he said, including the young man in his apologetic smile, “I just want to give you all a very brief over-view of our headquarters here. I know you haven’t had the guided tour yet, which we’ll do after this meeting, but this complex includes not just our administration centre, but also a walk-in clinic and hostel for the homeless. We also run a half-way house for drug addicts undergoing voluntary rehabilitation in a separate annexe, so it is quite an extensive enterprise. As you already know, we have a few rooms set up to accommodate temporary on-site helpers, and that is where you, Penny and Marion, will be staying for the duration of your voluntary work here. We need you both to help out here in the complex in various capacities, so you can rest assured that you won’t be asked to visit more dangerous locations unless under guard. Does that put your minds a little more at ease?” 

The relief on the two young women’s faces was palpable, and Blair smiled internally in appreciation for Father Malone’s tact and understanding. Time enough for the girls to experience harsher conditions should they decide to return and/or make missionary work their lives. He was suddenly aware that Father Malone was speaking to him, and he shook himself out of his brief reverie to see that everyone was watching him intently. 

“Um, sorry, Father,” he murmured, blushing a little in embarrassment. “I was wool-gathering there for a moment. You were saying?” 

“No problem, Blair,” the older man said kindly, eyes twinkling in suppressed amusement. “I can ramble on a bit, I know, but I just wanted to be sure that Penny and Marion understood what was required of them. Or not, as the case may be. 

“But now it’s your turn, young man. And I can tell you that Rafael has nothing but good things to say about you and your capability both in teaching and for practical projects. I also understand that despite your relative youth you’ve had quite a bit of experience travelling the world, and in South America in particular, is that correct?” 

Blair grinned a little bashfully at the priest’s words, his inner hurt and wounded self-esteem soothed somewhat by the man’s genuine interest and benevolent attitude. 

“Yeah, you could say that, Father. As a child I travelled with my mom Naomi to many different places. She’s something of a hippy, and is always on the search for inner peace and spiritual enlightenment, so we were always on the move. It’s probably what inspired my interest in anthropology, seeing as I was exposed to so many different cultures. I had to learn to fit in, you know? 

“Anyway, I’ve been on several expeditions to various parts since I’ve been at Rainier, mostly Peru and the Brazilian Amazon basin, in order to study indigenous tribes. But it’s been a while since I was in Colombia, and the political situation has changed since then. As has the nature of the drug trade, I understand. I just want to help those kids who’ve been displaced from rural areas by the constant unrest and local criminal activity, only to find that life in the suburbs is almost as bad. You know, give them a taste for learning; fire their ambition if you will; so they just might be able to get themselves out of the rut and make something of themselves, you know?” 

He abruptly realised that he had unconsciously fallen into lecture mode, his deeply-held beliefs firing up his own enthusiasm once again. He grinned self-deprecatingly, muttering, “Guess that sounds pretty pompous, huh? This is me, climbing down from my hobby horse,” and he snickered at himself, ducking his head to stare at the floor beneath his feet. 

Father Malone leaned forward and tapped him on his knee to regain his attention, meeting his sheepish look with an understanding and compelling gaze. 

“Nothing of the sort, young man! They are thoughts and sentiments close to my own heart, and I thank God for people like you who are prepared to put their money where their mouth is, so to speak, and try to do their bit in a practical fashion. The placement I have in mind for you should fulfil your desire to help those children, and just maybe provide a bit of healing for you also?” and the expression in the warm eyes was nothing but sympathetic and understanding. 

Blair swallowed hard, wondering if he was so easy to read, but then decided that right here, right now it didn’t matter. No one here was offering to judge him; just to accept him for what he was; and the realisation was liberating. 

His answering smile was one of gratitude and appreciation as he nodded in acceptance of the priest’s shrewd insight. “Thank you, Father. I’m sure it will.”  


\-----------------------------------------------  


**Three months later, the Mission School, Cazuca neighbourhood, Bogota:**  


Humming to himself, Blair unlocked the triple-locked, heavily barred and mesh-covered front door of the Mission School, the action routine and unremarkable in this neighbourhood. Like most of the other surrounding buildings, windows and doors were protected as much as possible against attempted break-ins and vandalism, although graffiti was rife, particularly where it related to either political slogans or gangster-style turf markings. Local crime was on the increase, with an ever-growing number of violent incidents as more and more disillusioned and disenfranchised young men in particular were drawn into rival gangs. The whole area was one of desperate deprivation and poverty, with high unemployment amongst the many families drawn to the city from rural areas, hoping vainly for an improvement in their lives, yet Blair wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. 

Except in Cascade, of course, but three months down the line he was resigned to the fact that he would probably never go back. He had written to Jim and Simon a couple of times to let them know where he was, and on occasion still emailed Megan, who remained a loyal friend and supporter and filled him in with goings-on in the MCU bullpen and PD in general, but that was it. Neither Jim nor Simon had replied other than with one brief and impersonal acknowledgement apiece, and he had received no invitations to return to the loft, so he assumed that Jim had once again shut off his senses, and was living the life he preferred, pre-senses and pre-Sandburg. The thought still hurt Blair deeply, but by throwing himself into his teaching, he was able to push aside his own troubles in favour of helping the kids and his neighbours with theirs, and he had generally been received with open arms by the local residents. Although they were plainly distrustful of the ‘gringo’ and his motives to begin with, Blair had soon begun to win them over, and his tiny school was bursting at the seams trying to squeeze in as many children as possible, the majority of whom were exactly as he had expected them to be. Eager young minds desperate for the learning that would give them an edge and help them claw their way up and out of the grinding poverty of Cazuca district. 

Blair spent a few minutes checking over the rather battered collection of textbooks he wanted to use for his first lesson, tutting over the poor condition of the older copies, and determined to approach Father Malone after school with a view to wheedling some funds out of the charity for replacements. He knew that textbooks could hardly take priority over medical supplies and basic foodstuffs, but they were necessary too. And he also knew that Father Malone would be sympathetic to his request, since, like Blair, he recognised the importance of education and the doors it could open for this and future generations of kids. 

He looked up with a smile as the first pupils started to arrive, the trickle becoming a flood within minutes as the classroom filled up, with those later arrivals seating themselves on the mats and cushions Blair had provided since there weren’t enough desks for everyone. He greeted them all by name, automatically noting new faces or absentees, this time a little concerned at the number of missing faces. 

“Good morning, everyone!” he called out, repeating the greeting in Portuguese, Spanish and Quechua for the benefit of a group of recent arrivals, newly relocated to Bogota from their Andean homeland. 

“Has anyone seen the Rojas children?” 

The eight children in question, six boys and two girls, were all from an extended family who were well-established in the area, chiefly on account of the wide-spread nefarious activities of more than a few of their relatives. For the sake of all his students, Blair deliberately refrained from getting involved unnecessarily in local vendettas, maintaining a non-judgemental stance and designating the school as a neutral zone, but he was well-aware of the undercurrents of tension running through large sections of the community. Drug dealing and smuggling was still a way of life for many of these families, the reach of their criminal relations stretching out far from the remote rural areas where their headquarters were based and the product was grown to the suburbs themselves, creating a network of production and distribution operations under the very noses of mostly indifferent local authorities. 

But the flourishing of so many smaller enterprises also led to a great deal of competition and frequent violence, from which no one was truly safe. 

Blair’s slight feeling of disquiet grew as one of the older boys put his hand up to answer, and his words set off all Blair’s alarm bells when he said, “Señor Blair, they are not coming today. Miguel told me his father has important business to deal with, and he and the other children are staying at home until it is done. Señor Rojas is angry with Señor Salazar for taking over some of his customers. Miguel says he has lost a lot of money and he wants to get it back.” 

“No he didn’t!” an indignant voice piped up, as Sofia Salazar butted in. “Señor Rojas is lying! Papa has done nothing wrong! It is Señor Rojas who has been stealing Papa’s business--” 

“OK, OK, calm down both of you!” Blair’s tone was firm but soothing although inside he was deeply worried, the threat of a local gang war between those two particular families enough to send chills down his spine. 

“I’m sure Miguel and his brothers and sisters will be back tomorrow, and they’ll be able to catch up with their lessons then. 

“Meanwhile, can you pass the books around one between two so you can all see a copy, OK? We’re going to talk about a different sort of rainforest environment today, not one like the Amazon basin. The forests in the Pacific North West, where I used to live…” and just like that he captured their attention, and the class got underway.  


\----------------------------------------------------  


Barely an hour into the lesson Blair was rudely interrupted right in the middle of an enthusiastic question and answer session by the door bursting open to reveal three heavily armed and angry-looking men. As the children screamed at the intrusion, Blair stepped forward, his first instinct to get between his students and the gunmen. Despite his heart hammering in his chest in terror, he wasn’t about to let these goons walk all over him without facing up to them first, however foolish the notion was. 

“Hey, man, there’s no need for the guns and aggression. There’s no one here but me and these children, and you’re scaring them, man.” He addressed his words to the first guy, who appeared to be the leader, trying to control the wobble in his voice and keeping his tone as calm and placatory as possible. 

He was rewarded by a casual back-handed blow across the mouth which left him spitting blood from a split lip; his ears ringing from the impact. 

“Shut up, _Professor,”_ the man snarled, imbuing the term with as much contempt as possible. “Speak when you are spoken to, or perhaps you’d prefer a bullet in the brain, huh?” and he grinned nastily as Blair paled involuntarily at his sick comment. 

“Where are the Rojas kids? Point them out to me!” and he grasped Blair’s bicep in a cruel grip, turning the smaller man to face the class while his two companions moved further into the room. Blair could feel the muzzle of the man’s large handgun pressing against his spine, but he refused to give the thug the satisfaction of hearing him ask for mercy on his own behalf. 

“They’re not here, man. They didn’t come in today. It’s the truth, I swear it. Just let the other kids go, and I’ll forget I ever saw you, OK?” 

The man holding him growled in fury, raising his gun hand to press the muzzle up under Blair’s chin instead. 

“You lie, _Professor!_ I won’t ask you again. Point them out to me, or we start shooting. And I’m sure you don’t want the blood of innocents on your hands, eh?” 

Desperate now for his students’ safety, Blair gulped and put as much conviction as he could into his response. 

“No, man, don’t shoot! It’s true. They didn’t come in today. Señor Rojas kept them home – I don’t know why!” 

Just when he thought his plea had fallen on deaf and disbelieving ears, one of the other men spoke up. “He’s right, Ramos! I don’t see them. We should take Sofia and go.” 

Swearing furiously under his breath, the man holding Blair tightened his grip. 

“We’ll take this one with us. He could be worth something if the missionaries want him back urgently enough. Come, Sofia. Get your things and come with me.” 

As Blair started to struggle in a vain attempt to pull away, he was rewarded by another blow to the side of his head, this time with the gun butt, and he greyed out for a moment, slumping in the man’s hold. As one of the others moved to take some of his sagging weight, he revived just enough to catch a few words of the heated exchange going on around him. He dimly registered Sofia’s high-pitched voice trying to argue with his captors, to no avail. 

“No, Uncle Ramos! Don’t hurt Señor Blair! He’s a good man, and a good teacher. You can’t take him!” But her reward for her plea was apparently a sharp slap, and Blair tried to respond to her wail of pain. And received a further blow for his efforts, and that was all he knew.  


\----------------------------------------  


**Following morning, Salazar compound:**  


Blair’s gradual return to consciousness was shockingly painful as he slowly became aware of the myriad hurts in both head and body. He didn’t dare try to move as his head felt as if it might fall off his shoulders at any moment, the throbbing behind his eyes resembling kettle drums reverberating in his skull. His ears ached, his face hurt and his throat felt as dry as tinder when he tried to call up enough saliva to swallow around the rough cloth pushed between his lips. Feeling weak and sick, he lay still, trying to relax until he felt able to deal with the additional distress that moving would undoubtedly create. 

Some unknown while later, although still in serious discomfort, his addled thought processes were finally working well enough so that he felt able to try to take stock of the situation by cataloguing both his physical condition and whatever evidence he could ascertain about his location. Breathing as deeply as possible in an effort to both calm himself and fight off the incipient nausea clawing at his throat, he felt able to risk opening one eye, only to find that he could see nothing at all. Concentrating hard, he realised that there was something covering his entire head rather than just a blindfold, and as soon as he realised that fact, he instantly began to feel itchy, sweaty and claustrophobic. Rationally he knew the reaction was as much psychological as physical, so chastising himself roundly, he fought against his rising panic and resumed his deep breathing until he was in control of himself again. Having achieved that state, albeit with no small effort, it was relatively easy to continue with his inventory. 

He was lying on his side on some sort of rough and lumpy pallet, the ache in his shoulders due to the fact that his hands were bound behind his back with what felt like leather cuffs linked by a short chain. His ankles appeared to have the same type of restraints although a tentative movement of his upper leg suggested that the connecting chain was rather longer, presumably to allow for limited movement like walking or shuffling at least. Concentrating once again on the sack or hood covering his head, he realised that there was something unexpected around his throat, and he had to stifle a moan of disgust and despair when he realised that he was wearing some sort of collar like a dog. _Jeez! Could this get any worse?_ he thought, only to answer himself immediately. _Oh yes it could. I’m still alive, so these bozos must be holding me to ransom. And if the Mission doesn’t consider me worth the money, I’m dead, because the US government won’t pay up._

It was a sobering thought but he refused to dwell on the worst case scenario, firmly telling himself that someone somewhere cared enough to pay for his freedom. Didn’t they? 

He was roused from his introspection by the rattle of a key in a lock, and a door swung open on creaking hinges to admit at least two people, judging by the noise and the sound of the footsteps crossing what seemed to be a bare board floor. 

“Hey, the little gringo’s awake at last,” a guttural voice announced. “Get him on his feet, Ramon, and we’ll take him to Señor Ramos. He wants to see what he’s picked up this time!” 

As rough hands dragged him upright, Blair couldn’t suppress a moan of pain as his head swam sickeningly, and he heaved against his gag as the movement finally caused his nausea to erupt. 

“Shit! Get the gag out, quick! If he chokes before Ramos has even seen him, we’re dead meat!” 

The panicked words were accompanied by frantic activity as the hood was yanked from his head and the gag pulled roughly from his mouth, and Blair retched violently until he had emptied the meagre contents of his stomach over the floorboards. Finally, weak, shaking and thoroughly miserable, he was dragged unceremoniously out of the hut, too distressed to take any notice of his surroundings until he was deposited on the floor of another building where he lay trembling, eyes closed and concentrating on breathing around the dizziness and nausea, wanting only to be left alone to sleep it off. 

It was not to be, however, as a hard kick to his thigh had him writhing in agony as a cruel hand grabbed his ponytail, pulling his head up to meet the furious glare of the man from the school attack. 

For long moments the man considered his victim, almost as if he was some sort of exotic specimen, which, in Blair’s still muddled thought processes, he probably was. 

Finally, apparently satisfied with what he saw, the man’s thin-lipped mouth stretched in a cruel grin as he nodded once, his dark eyes both hard and covetous. Releasing his hold on Blair’s hair, he rose up from his squatting position, snapping his fingers imperiously at Blair’s guards to pull him up to his knees. Blair fought to remain conscious, and by dint of sheer obstinacy, this time managed to take in a little more of his surroundings. And wasn’t encouraged at all by what he could see. 

He was kneeling on the hard wooden floor of a roughly-constructed but solid-looking timber hut, the walls of which were unadorned except for various maps and a cork board on which were pinned several sheets of paper. The windows Blair could see were glazed, but barred and covered with the same sort of protective mesh that his school’s windows sported. But this was no suburban property. Judging by the lack of city noises and the glimpse of green he could make out through the dirty window glass, Blair was pretty certain he wasn’t in Cazuca or any other area of Bogota anymore. 

As he fought to make sense of his surroundings, his captor spoke up again, commanding his attention from where he was now seated on a comfortable leather swivel chair, his knees on a level with Blair’s eyes. With one elbow propped on the edge of a solid mahogany desk, and the other resting negligently on the arm of the chair, the man looked relaxed and almost indolent, but the expression in his eyes was sharp and alert – the eyes of a man well-used to getting his own way. 

“So, _Professor,_ you managed to survive the trip to my little rural retreat. I did wonder if I’d hit you too hard, and you’d die on me, which would have been inconvenient. But no, here you are, alive and _almost_ well, and now I have to decide what to do with you. 

“But first, let me fill you in on a few details, as I have little concern that you will ever be in a position to pass on the information to anyone else. This is for your benefit only to help you understand what I want from you.” 

Blair’s hopes died as he realised the implications of what he was hearing. It was indeed worse than he had thought. Logically, if he was being held for ransom, he would be kept isolated and ignorant of his whereabouts and his captors’ identities so that on his release he wouldn’t have any relevant information to offer to law enforcement agencies. But this guy was making no attempt to hide his identity from Blair. In fact, he seemed to be about to disclose far more information than Blair wanted to know, and the only conclusion he could come to was that he was never going to be free of this man except by death, most likely his own. 

Swallowing hard as he fought to contain his fear and dismay, he realised that the man was still addressing him, so he shook himself out of his funk and tried to concentrate on what was being said, focussing on the narrow-eyed stare that pinned him as a snake would a rabbit. 

“You are already aware that you are no longer in Cazuco. In fact, you are nowhere in the area of Bogota at all. You have been brought instead to the Salazar compound, and all you need to know is that it is far from the city, and as isolated and untraceable a location as we could find. It is the headquarters of the Salazar cartel where the finest quality cocaine is grown and processed, right under the noses of your DEA and the local police, thanks to the daring and inspiration of my brother, our Jefe, Jesus Salazar. 

“And I am his brother and second-in-command, Ramos Salazar!” and he visibly puffed up with pride and smug self-satisfaction at the declaration, plainly expecting his unwilling listener to be impressed. 

And Blair was, but not in the way Ramos would have wanted. Blair despised such men because of the misery they created in the cause of garnering money and power. Misery for those poor families who had no other means of subsistence other than by working as labourers in the coca fields or in the processing plants through to the drug abuse victims at the receiving end of the vile trade. And all along the route from raw plant to the distribution of the finished product were similar evil, violent and ruthless individuals, intent on profiting from that misery. 

Realising now that he was going to die whatever he said or did, Blair abruptly decided he wanted it to be on his terms, not this pompous bastard’s, so he straightened his shoulders as best he could and hardened his expression to match. Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, he began to speak, voice cracked and hoarse both from dehydration and heart-felt emotion. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, or what you expect to gain from keeping me here, but if you’re looking for either monetary gain or adulation from me you’re sadly mistaken. I despise people like you; people who exploit their own countrymen for gain; and there’s no one I know of who cares enough about me to pay you for my return. 

“So let’s get it over with, shall we? Because I’d rather die than offer you my respect!” 

He glared at his captor with all the bravado and resolve he could muster, expecting at any second for Ramos to react to the insult by ordering his instant execution. But even as the other man’s expression hardened to one of furious indignation, when he finally spoke his words both surprised and disappointed Blair. Eyes now cruel and considering, Ramos’ tone was thoughtful as he murmured, “I know what you’re trying to do, Pequeño, and it won’t work! You want to provoke me enough so I have you killed immediately. But I am going to disappoint you, my pet. You fascinate me. My niece Sofia was most insistent that I spare your life. She likes you, _Professor,_ and says you are special. A gifted teacher, and a ‘good’ man. 

“And who am I to disagree with my precious Sofia? You are very pretty, Pequeño, and I rather fancy taking on a new pet. It befits my station to be served by one such as yourself. By the time I have trained you well, you will do anything I ask, and will be only too glad to take food from my hand. And when I have tired of you, or you have outlived your usefulness, I’ll either find someone else to pass you on to, or have you put down like any other unwanted pet. 

“So you see, _Professor,_ this is the end of life as you know it! 

“Take him away!” 

And Blair was hauled to his feet and dragged back to the hut that was to become his prison cell for the duration of what would become for Blair a veritable eternity of pain and humiliation.  


\-----------------------------------------  


Left alone in the hut, where the only light came from that seeping through the cracks in the barred and boarded up window, Blair huddled on the rough pallet trying to come to terms with his new circumstances. Although still restrained hand and foot, his guards had released his hands and reattached the chain so that his hands were now secured in front so that he could feed himself with the stale bread and revolting-looking rice and bean mixture from the plate dumped down inside the doorway. 

Not that he intended to eat the slop, but he did drink the water from the bottle placed alongside, grateful for the precious liquid and the way it soothed his raw throat. Shivering more from pain and anxiety than from cold, Blair closed his eyes and sank gratefully into unconsciousness. 

And woke up to a blue-tinted jungle, only experienced once before under very different circumstances. 

_Oh, shit!_

Blair found himself standing at the edge of a clearing, knowing that if he looked behind him, he would once again see a bright light. The light that had beckoned so enticingly while, in the form of his wolf spirit, he had paused after being drowned in the fountain, held in place by the call of the jaguar, Jim’s spirit animal. On that occasion he had listened to the call, and run back joyfully to merge with Jim’s jaguar, only to find that Jim didn’t want to further their connection, and had backed off as quickly as possible once Blair had returned to life on the earthly plane. 

This time he knew he wanted to go into the light, his wounded soul craving the peace and love he knew he would find there. But when he turned around, his path was barred by a figure painted and dressed in Chopec fashion. 

“Um, why are you here, Incacha? I mean, I guess I must be dead like you, or at least dying. What do you need?” 

The shaman smiled sweetly, his eyes wise and kind. 

“I have come to offer you a choice, young Wolf. I know you have been badly hurt by Enqueri, and that you feel as if you are no longer needed as his guide and companion, but I ask you to reconsider your decision to pursue an early death. You have made mistakes, as has he, but he still needs you whether he admits it or not. Without you, there will be no more Sentinel of the Great City, and he will never again be whole or content. 

“You are a gifted shaman, even though you have had no formal training, and together you and Enqueri have the potential to be a formidable force for good in your territory. Can you forgive him enough to try again?” 

Blair stared at his feet for a long moment considering the shaman’s words, incidentally realising that he understood perfectly exactly what Incacha said. _Must be a spirit plane thing,_ he thought, chuckling wryly to himself. _My grasp of Quechua’s normally pretty basic._ Then, sober once more, he looked up to meet Incacha’s understanding gaze. 

“I don’t know, man. I mean, I don’t deny what you say is true, but I’m not sure I can take any more of Jim’s distrust. He has made it clear often enough that he doesn’t want me around, and told me he wasn’t ready to take that trip with me. If I was to return, would he change his mind? Because I don’t think I could bear it if he denied me again.” 

This time Incacha’s gentle smile was rueful as he responded, his words promissory but cautious, and Blair wasn’t particularly reassured by them. 

“It is within you to overcome Enqueri’s reluctance, but it will come at a price. You will have to endure far more than you deserve to if you wish to secure your place at his side, and the way back will be hard indeed, but if you have faith in yourself and in the depth of your love for Enqueri, you will succeed. 

“Are you strong enough to try?” 

And Blair realised that he wasn’t ready to give up on his Sentinel yet after all. He had given himself to Jim heart and soul, only to be rebuffed time after time. But if what Incacha claimed was true, then he knew he had to give it one last try for his own satisfaction if nothing else. 

But first he had to survive his imprisonment, and he would need all his strength and determination to do that. 

Meeting Incacha’s gaze with resolve, Blair nodded once. 

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I’ll do it!” 

And woke up in his hut, bound and determined to endure.  


\-------------------------------------  


Time lost all meaning for Blair in the weeks and months that followed, and on many occasions he would wonder why he was so determined to survive the pain and indignity he suffered on a daily basis. Although his hands were freed when he needed full movement, his hobbles remained in place at all times, so escape was never an option. Certainly he tried working on the leather-covered shackles when alone in his hut, but the locked steel within resisted all his attempts however doggedly he persisted. 

He learned early on to hold his tongue, after an embarrassing and agonising public whipping, and from then on spoke only when required. Swallowing his pride, he completed the degrading and menial tasks Ramos demanded of him, acting as valet-cum-body slave when Ramos was present in the compound, and at other times working as a manual labourer either in the coca fields or in the processing sheds. At Ramos’ hands he was subjected to the blows, touches and pats a large and unruly dog might expect, with about as much value and importance. He had no idea why Ramos was so fascinated by him, but he obstinately refused to abandon his goal of somehow gaining his freedom and returning to Jim. 

And when he did, he would make Jim listen, and force the Sentinel accept him as companion again. It was the only reason to live. 

He was provided with subsistence rations, although he soon lost any surplus weight, his musculature becoming wiry through hard labour. However, he was constantly exhausted since he was given no respite from toil of one sort or another from one day to the next. He simply collapsed into unconsciousness after forcing down his paltry evening food ration, to sleep like the dead for the few hours he was granted during the night. 

He was allowed time to wash and shave, however, as Ramos didn’t want a stinking pet next to him, and was given rough but serviceable clothing and sandals to wear while working outside. And the dog collar remained in place at all times as an indication of his servitude and humiliation. 

But as far as Blair was concerned, perhaps the only mitigating aspect of his otherwise dreary and pain-filled existence was that Ramos didn’t want him for sexual purposes. The man had no interest in male-male relationships; if anything, Blair suspected that Ramos was pretty much homophobic; so he was spared that torture at least. Not that several of Ramos’ men didn’t have the urge to grope him, and they frequently molested and abused him when they could get away with it. However, they knew it wasn’t worth the risk of provoking their leader’s wrath if they were found to have actually raped his ‘pet’, for which Blair was heartily grateful. 

And then one day, more than a year after his capture, the DEA raided the compound unexpectedly and Blair was freed.  


\--------------------------------------------  


It happened at dawn when Blair was still asleep, his first dazed realisation that something was going down when he was rudely awakened by gunfire and shouting as the occupants of the compound reacted in panic to the invading DEA agents and local law enforcement officers. Taken by surprise, Ramos’ men could only put up a token resistance, and Blair listened in a mixture of excitement and apprehension as the sounds of the short-lived fire-fight died down, and other sounds of doors thrown open and buildings being searched reached him. Terrified that he would be mistaken for a cartel gangster and shot out of hand, he cringed when his hut door burst open, throwing his hands up in a defensive gesture as he forced himself to speak. And that in itself was no mean feat as he had been cowed into silence for so long. 

“P…please, man, d…don’t shoot! I’m not one of them, I swear! M…my name is B…Blair Sandburg, and I’m a US citizen. Please don’t shoot!” 

The heavily-armed agent who was covering him from the doorway lowered his weapon a fraction as he studied Blair, although he remained at the ready in case it was a trick. 

“Stand up. Slowly. And keep your hands where I can see them.” 

Blair staggered to his feet as quickly as he could, his movements hampered by the hobbles around his ankles. Finally standing before the man, he met the other’s assessing gaze, his own expression one of wide-eyed appeal. And then it all became too much for his desperately weakened physical and emotional condition and he dropped in a dead faint.  


\------------------------------------  


When Blair woke next he found himself in the sterility of a hospital room, comfortably tucked into a clean bed and feeling warmer and more relaxed than he had in far too long. Somewhat disorientated and still feeling drowsy and enervated, he decided that trying to comprehend his current situation yet was beyond him, and he succumbed gratefully once again to the lure of healing sleep. 

Some while later he roused again, this time to find that he had company, and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to focus on his visitor. Frowning in concentration, he finally realised that Father Malone sat next to his bed, a wide smile of real pleasure and relief on his face as he reached over to pat Blair’s hand. 

“Blair, my boy,” he began, voice warm and comforting. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you alive and well. That is,” he added hurriedly, “Better than I might have expected under the circumstances. To tell you the truth, my son, we had almost given up hope, but I still wanted so much to believe that the Lord wouldn’t see fit to take you so soon. And now He has returned you to us, and I thank Him most sincerely for His mercy. 

“Are you able to speak about your trials yet, because I believe the DEA wants to take your statement? But if you don’t feel up to it yet, I shall do my best to delay them. I can see with my own eyes how you must have suffered during your captivity.” 

Blair contemplated him in silence for long moments, unable as yet to put his tumbling thoughts and emotions into any sort of coherent order. To be honest, although he was more than glad to see Brendan Malone, he was unable to completely quash a feeling of disappointment that it wasn’t Jim at his bedside, even though his rational self knew that that was highly unlikely. As far as he knew, Jim probably thought him dead so it was hardly surprising that he hadn’t flown immediately to his former guide’s aid. 

Realising that Father Malone was waiting for a response, Blair swallowed hard and licked his lips, glancing meaningfully at the pitcher of iced water on the nightstand. 

“So sorry, Blair,” Father Malone responded immediately. “Let me get you a straw. You must be so dry even with the drip in your arm.” 

Blair smiled slightly, peering a little distractedly at the previously unnoticed line feeding into the back of his left hand, then gratefully accepted the straw that Father Malone held to his lips. The cool water tasted like nectar, soothing his dry throat and temporarily boosting his flagging concentration. 

Thirst finally satisfied for the moment, Blair released the straw and sank back into his pillows, fighting to overcome the automatic reticence arising from his recent enforced conditioning. 

“Um, thank you Father. I…um…that is…I don’t think I can talk about this yet. In detail, that is. It’s too soon. Too fresh. I…I mean, it’s great to see you again, truly. There were many times when I thought I would never see the outside world again. Never see my friends. 

“B…but I can’t deal with it yet, if ever. I just need some time…” and he tailed off, blushing in shame and ducking his head. 

Brendan Malone was a good and a sympathetic man, instinctively understanding his young friend’s state of mind far better than most professional therapists. 

“I understand, Blair, and I shall inform the agent waiting outside that he will get no more than the basic facts for now. And that’s only if you’re up to it. 

“Then with your permission I shall discuss your condition with your doctor, and if he says you can be released into my care, I should be honoured if you would return with me to the Mission, where you can rest and recuperate for as long as you need. How does that sound?” 

And to Blair it sounded perfect, so much more than he had expected, and he was completely unable to control the tears of relief and gratitude that spilled over from his watery eyes. 

“Yes, please, Father. And thank you so much for your understanding.” 

“Think nothing of it, dear boy. It’s the least I can do.” And with a final pat to Blair’s hand, Brendan Malone rose and left the room to set in motion the actions needed to procure Blair’s release.  


\----------------------------------------  


**Part 2: On My Way Home:**  


**MCU bullpen, a few days later:**  


“Ellison! My office now!” 

In an almost exact action replay of that fateful day fifteen months ago when Simon told Jim that his friend and guide was missing, Jim studied Simon’s deeply troubled face as he rose to his feet, the feeling of déjà vu growing as he approached his captain’s office. With his own expression matching his lover’s, Jim’s tone was one of concern as he met Simon’s dark gaze. 

“What is it, Simon? From your expression I figure that it’s not good news. Have you heard anything? Anything about Blair at last? He’s really dead, isn’t he?” and his voice broke as he tried to suppress his despair. 

“No! No, Jim! I’m sorry, man. It’s not that at all!” Simon hurried to reassure his friend and lover even though his face and demeanour remained worried and far from relieved as Jim might have expected. 

“Look, sit down Jim, and I’ll fill you in on the phone call I just took from the US embassy in Bogota.” 

While Jim sank into the chair in front of Simon’s desk, Simon bustled around pouring two cups of coffee from his private stash, continuing to speak as he did so. 

“Here, Jim. I think we both need this. After all this time, I have to say the ambassador’s news has shaken me to the core, and I dare say it will you also. Here,” he continued, pushing the mug of fragrant coffee into Jim’s hand. Resuming his seat and placing his own mug on the desk before him, he met Jim’s frowning and perplexed gaze again. 

“You see, Jim, it’s like this. Apparently the DEA recently raided a previously unknown compound some distance away from Bogota. They were acting on a tip-off from a rival cartel, and had no idea that any hostages were present. But when they went in, they found Blair. It appears he was being kept as the camp commander’s pet and personal servant which is why no ransom demand was ever made. 

“Apparently he’s in poor shape, Jim. Half-starved and abused and his head’s pretty messed up as you can imagine. 

“Anyhow, the head of the local Mission who had been employing him – one Father Brendan Malone – has taken him into his care until such time as Blair’s fit to travel, whenever that may be. And it seems that he’s very protective of his charge, so I don’t think we have to worry that Blair’s not getting the best treatment he can for the moment. 

“It’s great news, Jim, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t deeply concerned. About Blair of course, but also about you. And about us. I just never thought this could happen after all this time,” and Simon stared intently into Jim’s eyes, needing to know what his friend and lover’s reaction would be. 

“Shit, Simon! I…I don’t know what to say! I mean, I’m so glad – so relieved that Blair’s alive. I treated him so badly, and thought I’d never get the chance to apologise – at least, not in this life! But things are different now. I have you, even if it’s not public knowledge. And I’m not a sentinel any longer. How will I explain it to him without hurting him again? If he comes back, that is. 

“Gods,” he continued, almost to himself. “I feel torn in two. I’m so happy he’s alive – how could I not be? But when – _if_ – he comes back to Cascade, what then?” and he raised his head to hold Simon’s frank gaze as the other man grimaced in empathy. 

With a heavy sigh, Simon responded feelingly. 

“I think the only thing we can do is play it by ear, Jim. If he’s as messed up as they say, it’ll probably be a while until he decides what he wants to do next, and I for one don’t think it’ll do any of us any good if we go rushing off to his bedside right now. I say that we keep track of his condition and his whereabouts, surreptitiously if necessary, and worry about everything else if he decides to return to Cascade. 

“It’s all we can do,” and Jim nodded in reluctant agreement.  


\-------------------------------------------  


Over the next few days Jim and Simon’s lives at work and at home gradually returned to near normal as the initial shock of learning about Blair’s rescue wore off. Although they were both still greatly concerned about possible future consequences, there was no point in borrowing trouble, and there was comfort to be had in routine. Many of their colleagues at the PD, and in the MCU in particular were overjoyed to hear that Blair had survived, especially Joel and Megan, who both had soft spots for the ex-grad student. However, they soon realised that continually pushing Jim for further news wasn’t productive, and backed off, albeit with consternation and no little irritation. 

Simon did request and receive occasional bulletins on Blair’s progress from Father Malone, but these tended to be vague and Jim was convinced that either Blair had asked his carer to suppress detailed information so as not to worry his friends and acquaintances, or that Father Malone had decided unilaterally to do so anyway through a desire to protect his young friend. 

One person who wasn’t prepared to placidly accept the situation however was Simon’s son Daryl. The young man had made no bones about the fact that he thought Jim and his father had betrayed Blair by moving in together, and had never given up believing that his friend was alive and would eventually return. Simon had retained his own apartment despite spending most of his time at the loft, partly as a sensible safety-net, and also so Daryl could stay there when he had occasion to visit since his son had no intention of staying in what he referred to disparagingly as his father and Jim’s little ‘love nest’. And once he heard the news about Blair’s release, Daryl’s contempt for both Jim and his father knew no bounds. 

Arriving unexpectedly at the loft, the young man’s words and attitude were truculent as he waded straight in. 

“So, now what? What are you going to do when Blair comes home? Because he will, I know it! He loves you, Jim; always has and I dare say always will despite the fact that you’ve both treated him like shit! I couldn’t believe it when you two got together, and don’t give me that bullshit about comforting each other either. You’ve never even have the guts to be open about your relationship! You had no time for Blair even when he was helping you at the PD, Dad, despite the fact that he’s helped save both our lives! And as for you, Jim – you let him crucify himself on TV for you. He’s the hero, not you, Oh Great Sentinel Ellison, and everyone who really knows Blair knows he didn’t lie! 

“Christ, you both make me sick!” 

Momentarily stunned by the normally polite and respectful young man’s vitriol, both older men spoke at once. 

“How dare you speak to me like that, son! You have no right to judge me!” 

“You don’t understand! I didn’t ask him to fall on his sword for me! He messed up….” 

Their words elicited nothing but a sneer of acute disdain from the young man, and he didn’t even deign to reply. Instead he spun around and departed as abruptly as he had arrived leaving two shell-shocked men behind him. 

Exchanging rueful glances, Simon eventually murmured, “That went well – not!” and sighed shakily as Jim pulled him down to sit beside him on the sofa. 

“Yeah,” Jim concurred softly. “He sure told us, didn’t he?” And they sat in introspective silence, pressed close for mutual comfort and support.  


\----------------------------------------  


Two days after that painful altercation, Jim and Simon were relaxing in front of the TV watching a Jags replay. It was a rare Saturday off for the pair of them, and they were making the most of the much-appreciated down-time. Suddenly, a knock at the door alerted them to an unexpected visitor, and once again Jim felt a slight pang of discontent that he could no longer rely on his senses to give him a clue as to who was at the door. 

On the other hand, some internal radar had him on alert, and, with a quick glance at Simon, he rose and approached the door, a deeply-ingrained instinct telling him that the interruption wasn’t hostile. 

And indeed that was far from the case as he opened the door to reveal his long-lost partner. 

Blair stood uncertainly on the threshold, his expressive face betraying every emotion as he peered almost shyly up into Jim’s astounded gaze. The huge blue eyes conveyed fear, hope and joy as he greedily drank in Jim’s beloved features, with joy taking the upper hand as Jim, reacting purely with natural and instinctive pleasure, opened his arms to accept his guide, unsurprised when Blair threw himself into the welcoming embrace. Wrapping his own arms tightly around Jim’s waist, he clung like a limpet and buried his face against Jim’s broad chest, physically shuddering with the force of his emotional release. For long moments they soaked up the mutual comfort, oblivious of the outside world until a soft cough broke into their consciousness. 

Abruptly coming back to himself, Jim released Blair and gently pushed him away, his face now suffused with embarrassment and no little guilt. Shocked and puzzled at the dramatic change, Blair frowned in confusion as he looked up to see Simon’s equally embarrassed and apologetic face peering at him from over Jim’s shoulder. Suddenly filled with a cold dread, he peered around Jim’s bulk to study the loft within. 

And was struck with crippling despair at what he saw. 

Rather than the return to Spartan sterility he had half expected, the loft looked as homely as it had before he had been thrown out for the first time. Except that many of the personal touches weren’t his anymore, but plainly belonged to Simon. 

And he was completely crushed. 

Horrified, Jim could do nothing but watch as Blair’s face crumpled in a despair it was painful to witness as his partner’s hopes and dreams came crashing down about his ears. And as he looked on, transfixed by morbid fascination, he had time to really assess his former guide’s condition, and he hated what he saw. 

Blair was painfully thin, and his face had an unhealthy cast beneath his tan. His eyes, now wide in shock and bitter humiliation, were bruised-looking and seemed too big for his face, the well-defined cheekbones too prominent above sunken cheeks. His hair, far longer now as it hadn’t been cut since his capture, was threaded with a few strands of grey at the temples, and was pulled back severely in a ponytail at his nape. 

And the beautiful and generous mouth trembled as the smaller man fought a losing battle against the tears which threatened to fall. 

Jim felt like the lowest form of pond scum as he watched his friend’s collapse, knowing that he was to blame, and having no idea as to how to fix things. His heart broke as he saw the first fat tears begin to roll down Blair’s cheeks, and he cringed at the utter devastation writ large on the familiar features, and his guilt knew no bounds as the slender figure seemed to fold in on itself. 

Completely at a loss, he jumped when Simon gripped his shoulder firmly, his own face reflecting Jim’s hurt and guilt as he murmured, “Get him inside, Jim. He’s going to collapse at any moment. Whatever else happens, for now we need to take care of him.” And he reached down to retrieve the ancient backpack and small duffel which were the smaller man’s only items of luggage. 

From Blair’s perspective the situation couldn’t get any worse. For so many months now he had stoically endured abuse and humiliation only because of his stubborn determination to make good on his promise to Incacha; and to himself, truth be told. His ultimate goal and the shining light at the end of a long and bleak tunnel had been the possibility of returning to Jim and repairing their friendship as well as their partnership as sentinel and guide, and when Jim had taken him in his arms it seemed for a few precious moments that all Blair’s dreams had come true. He had even dared to believe for one glorious instant that they could finally take the next step in their relationship that he desired so greatly – to become life-partners in all senses of the word. 

But now he realised that it wasn’t to be. Jim had moved on, and Blair had no part in his life – no claim on his heart anymore – and his mortification was absolute. He despised his own weakness as he surrendered to total despair and felt something break deep inside as he recognised his folly, and he wished sincerely for the floor to open beneath his feet and swallow him and his pathetic emotions without a trace. Closing his eyes tightly against the disgust and disdain he was sure must be on both Jim and Simon’s faces he staggered slightly as he attempted to turn away, intent on escaping even if he had no idea where to go. 

However, he was prevented from moving by a powerful arm falling across his shoulders, and he groaned softly in soul-deep agony as he was ushered gently but insistently inside, too broken and distressed now to even fight against the unwanted imposition of Jim’s pity. 

Voice cracked and choked with tears, he tried to protest, needing his former friends to let him go; to let him hide away from their guilt and sympathy; bury himself deep in his misery. He was utterly overwhelmed by pain and guilt, and couldn’t shoulder theirs as well. 

“Please, Jim, let me go! I…I’m sorry. I should never have come. I thought…I hoped? It doesn’t matter. I was wrong. I’ll go away, I promise….” 

He found himself pulled down to sit beside Jim on the nearest sofa, the uncompromising arm still wrapped firmly around him. 

“No, Chief, don’t! We… _I_ …need to talk. To explain. I’m sorry too, Blair. More than I can say. I truly believed you were gone for good. But first you need to rest. You’re just about dead on your feet, and there’s no way I could turn you away. The loft was – _is_ – your home, and your room’s still there and made up. 

“Just rest for a while, huh, Chief? Please? Let me take care of you for a few hours at least.” 

Too exhausted and dispirited to argue further, Blair allowed himself to be gently guided to his old room under the stairs, not even able to find enough energy to study his surroundings. Because if he had, he would have seen that his old room was little changed from when he last occupied it, as Jim had replaced many of his belongings within days of Blair’s departure for Colombia, unable to believe that they were finished for good. 

And even when he had finally given up hope, and Simon had moved in, Jim still hadn’t found the strength as yet to clear out the small space, which had become almost a shrine to his lost companion. And a physical reminder of his own selfishness. 

Easing his broken friend down onto the small bed, he quickly and carefully removed Blair’s battered sneakers before tucking him under the covers, unsurprised when the younger man’s eyes closed and he fell almost immediately into an exhausted slumber. Sitting beside the bed, brow knitted in concern, Jim contemplated the familiar features, which even in repose bore the marks of pain and hardship and no evidence of inner peace. 

Satisfied that Blair was out for the count for a few hours at least, he stood and returned to where Simon waited patiently in the great room, his own expression deeply troubled. 

“Jeez, Jim, he looks terrible! I mean, I hardly expected miracles, but he looks like he’s aged ten years. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt so bad in all my life as when I saw his expression on seeing me. We’ve broken his heart, Jim. All these years I never knew – never _wanted_ to know just how deeply he felt – still feels - about you, but now I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. And I feel like shit. 

“But God help me, I don’t want to lose what we’ve built between us, Jim. This relationship has meant so much to me. It’s something I never expected to find again with man or woman, and I’m selfish enough to want to hold on to it. I care for you, Jim, but I care about Sandburg too, in a different way. You’re not the only one who hurt him and treated him with less respect than he deserved. I was guilty of taking him for granted and belittling him in the bullpen too, and I feel ashamed of that. 

“And now he’s back, more damaged than I could possibly have imagined. How are we going to fix this? _Can_ we fix it?” 

He gazed into Jim’s stormy eyes, seeking his lover’s understanding as much as his opinion and reassurance. As captain of Major Crimes he had never before felt as hesitant or uncertain as he did now however critical a situation might be, and the realisation was deeply disturbing. 

As far as Jim was concerned, his emotions were in such a state of turmoil he was incapable of addressing his own personal dilemma, let alone offer comfort and advice to Simon, and his jaw tightened as he turned pained eyes towards the small bedroom. Sighing gustily he turned back to face his lover, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable and confused. 

“I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t know how to answer you. I can’t think clearly yet, so anything I do say now might be misunderstood and only make matters worse. We all need to talk; to bring everything out into the open and decide how to deal with the inevitable changes that will affect us all; but for tonight I need to stay with Blair. 

“Please don’t be hurt or offended, Simon. It’s not like I want to sleep with him. But I need to stay close. Reassure myself that he’s here and alive and that I can at least protect and watch over him until morning.” 

Simon’s expression became closed off at Jim’s words, and Jim knew he had managed to hurt his lover’s feelings anyway. But he was determined to spend just a little time caring for the friend he had treated so badly, and just maybe use the opportunity to really think things through. 

After a few tense moments, Simon’s face changed to take on a thin-lipped and irritated look as he muttered, “Fine! Have it your own way. I’m going to bed,” and he stalked off to climb the stairs, back and shoulders rigid with disapproval and indignation. 

Sighing deeply again, Jim let him go, trusting that he would be able to make amends in the morning. But for now he quickly visited the bathroom to take care of business, then let himself quietly into the small bedroom, there to sit at Blair’s bedside for as long as he was allowed. 

And as he watched, concentrating on the fleeting glimpses of distress that flashed occasionally across the beloved face and the too-slender body that twitched restlessly beneath the covers despite the depth of the sleeper’s unconsciousness, he felt a surge of protectiveness and affection greater than anything he had previously experienced. And something deep inside him; something so right clicked back into place as the empty space in his heart was filled once more, and his soul was soothed and healed by the presence of his guide. 

And as he leaned forward to still the restless movements with a gentle hand, he became aware of the rhythmic thrumming that had been absent for so long. The welcome drum-beat of his guide’s steadfast heart which had grounded and calmed him whenever he had need of it. A sound he had sought out automatically for years, and had taken for granted, just as he knew he had taken his partner for granted. 

His senses were back, and for the moment at least he rejoiced in the fact. 

Feeling at ease with his gift, perhaps for the first time ever, he explored Blair with care and concentration. From the soft susurrations of his breathing to the rush of blood through veins and arteries Jim catalogued his partner. He traced the warmth of deep bruising and healing welts with gentle fingertips even through bedcovers and clothing and noted the sour taints of sweat and fear that overlaid Blair’s pleasing and much-missed personal scent. 

Completing his scan, Jim sat back. On one level he was greatly relieved to find that Blair wasn’t physically damaged beyond repair; at least, nothing that rest, good food and TLC couldn’t fix; but there was something else. Something that Jim knew he would have to face up to, and soon. 

He had told Simon only hours ago that he didn’t intend to sleep with Blair, but he admitted to himself now that that had been untrue. At least, up to a point. When he’d said it, he probably meant it, but right here and right now the love and attraction he had felt for Blair before the diss – and Alex Barnes – had come between them was back in full force, and he wanted nothing more than to climb into the small bed and take his partner in his arms. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to make good at last the promise they had shared in the merge at the fountain and hope that Blair still felt the same way. 

But how could he do that to Simon? How could he explain that he realised now that Blair completed him? Made him what he was meant to be: the Sentinel of the Great City. 

He had done his level best to deny his gifts; to hide behind a pretence of normality; and in the doing had hurt his loyal partner beyond telling. He knew now that to shut down his abilities was to make himself less than whole. Blair had always insisted that his hypersensitivity was a gift beyond price, and to squander such a gift would be irresponsible and ungrateful in the extreme. 

But Gods, he was still scared, and he still wasn’t sure that he had the guts to face up to his ‘fear-based responses’ as Blair had once described them. 

Yet maybe it was time. Time to admit that Blair had been right all along. That Jim was everything he was meant to be. But it could only be possible if Blair stayed with him. If Blair could forgive him his anger and ingratitude and agree to be the partner that Incacha had decreed was his destined role. 

And if he did, what of Jim’s relationship with Simon? 

Now that was a real concern. 

He had known Simon for longer than he had known Blair, and once he had gotten over the punk-ass attitude he had carried over from Vice, he had grown to like and admire the man as both captain and friend. He had supported Simon through his divorce, as Simon had supported him through his own break-up with Carolyn. He had befriended his son, and had enjoyed the shared poker nights, Jags games and other social functions. 

And Simon had supported him despite his own misgivings for years now over the ‘Sentinel voodoo shit’. 

But Jim didn’t love him. He was fond of him, for sure. Cared for him, and admired him. Was enormously grateful to him for his love and support after Blair disappeared. 

But he didn’t love him. 

And somehow he was going to have to tell him. 

And if Blair couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive Jim for giving up on him, he could end up alone after all. 

Well, shit.  


\-------------------------------------------------  


The following morning found Jim asleep in the chair at Blair’s bedside, slumped awkwardly with his head supported by one hand while the other curled possessively around Blair’s bicep. Despite the cramped discomfort he had managed to snatch several hours of deep, dreamless sleep, only disturbed now through some instinctive inner alarm call, probably left over from his days in the military. 

Opening his eyes, he saw that Blair was already awake and watching him intently, and for long moments he basked in the unaffected love and affection reflected in the smoky depths of the younger man’s soft blue gaze. His own lips tilted to mirror the soft smile gracing Blair’s generous mouth, and for a few precious seconds they shared a brief spell of pure, unadulterated peace as they reconnected silently on some soul-deep level. 

However, their tranquillity was abruptly disturbed by the sounds of Simon moving around the bedroom overhead, and Jim was saddened to see Blair’s expression change abruptly to one of anxiety and shy insecurity as he visibly withdrew into himself. 

Although Jim knew that much of his previously feisty partner’s new uncertainty and diffidence was the result of his captivity and the abuse to which he had been subjected for so many months, he also had no doubt that some of it was down to him and his past cavalier attitude to and treatment of his friend and guide. He hated to witness the vulnerability in the wounded blue eyes, and ached to find some way of taking away the pain therein. 

“Hey, Chief,” he murmured gently, almost as if addressing a wild colt. “How do you feel?” 

Blair struggled to reply, obviously trying hard and almost succeeding in sounding normal, except that the effort was betrayed by the nervous swallow and rapidly blinking eyes that preceded his words. 

“Um, better, thanks, Jim. Thanks for letting me crash here for the night. Um, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to grab a shower and shave, and then I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“No problem, Chief, but I don’t want you to go. Look, we have lots to discuss, so why don’t you go and freshen up, and I’ll put the coffee on? And some breakfast too. You look like you could do with something inside you.” 

Noting Blair’s open-mouthed reaction, he grinned ruefully as he continued. 

“OK, I know! Don’t look so shocked! I _do_ mean ‘talk’, even if it’s not my usual MO!” and he congratulated himself on the tiny, disbelieving smirk his self-deprecating comment elicited on Blair’s pale and beard-stubbled face. 

Serious once more, he reiterated, “I don’t want you to go, Chief. Truly. We can work this out, I’m sure of it. Just give me – us – a chance, please?” He was nearly overwhelmed with relief when Blair responded with a reluctant nod of assent. 

However, their fragile connection was jarred again as, with a peremptory rap on the door frame, Simon opened the French door and stuck his head around the side, his face blank and stony-eyed. 

“I’m going in to the office, Jim. I’ve got things to do. I’ll see you tonight. And you, Sandburg. If you’re still here, that is….” And he withdrew before either Jim or Blair could respond, plainly heading for the front door. 

Flicking Blair a swift glance of apology, Jim jumped to his feet and hurried after Simon, catching his lover’s arm as the bigger man reached to disengage the locks. Pulling him around, Jim got in his face, hissing angrily, “Just what the fuck was all that about, Simon? You said you were taking today off also. So we could have the weekend together. You also said we needed to fix things with Blair. What’s changed your mind, huh? Are you jealous? Well? _Are_ you?” 

Glaring down into Jim’s irate and disappointed face, Simon responded with equal ferocity, his own hurt colouring his words. 

“What did you expect, Jim? You used me…cried on my shoulder when you thought he was dead. And you were only too happy for me to move in with you, to accept my companionship and love. 

“Yes, Jim. Love! Because that’s what I felt – feel – for you! 

“But the second Sandburg reappears, you’re all over him like white on rice. Wanting his forgiveness, and spending the night with him! And don’t tell me it’s more sentinel-related crap! I’ve had enough of that. _More_ than enough! I thought it was over and done with, and that we could have a normal relationship. Just the two of us without the senses and the mystical shit! 

“Guess I was wrong, huh? Gods, I would never have believed I could be so naïve! I should’ve listened to Daryl. You love him as much as he loves you. Always have, and always will. You just needed to get your head out of your ass and admit it.” 

The depth of Simon’s pain instantly defused Jim’s anger and indignation as he guiltily acknowledged the veracity of his lover’s words. It was true. He had finally admitted to himself only last night that what he felt for the big captain wasn’t love, not in the way that Simon wanted and deserved. He had unwittingly used the other man’s genuine affection and freely-offered support, convincing himself that it was what he wanted – needed. And that he would be content to maintain their comfortable but undemanding relationship for the foreseeable future. 

But now Blair was back, and the contrast between what he had now and what he truly wanted was marked. He understood now what Blair had been getting at when he compared the academic merry-go-round to the rollercoaster of his ride-along. And no matter what he did now, what choice he made, someone was going to get hurt. 

And the gods help him; he knew it couldn’t be Blair. Not again. Never again. 

However, he was prevented from making any sort of reply by a softly-spoken interruption from the direction of the small bedroom. Both men swung around to see Blair, leaning shakily against the doorframe, his pallor and dishevelled state adding unintentional poignancy to his halting words. 

“Please guys, don’t argue. Not over me. I…I’ll be on my way as soon as I can, I swear. I’ll be OK. I can go stay with Rafael for a bit until I decide what to do. He’ll look out for me, so you needn’t worry, honest.” 

Jim’s response was instant and vehement. “No, Chief! It’s OK, really! I – we – want you to stay,” and he shot a sideways glance at Simon to check on his reaction. 

To see that the older man’s face had softened noticeably as he studied Blair carefully. 

“He’s right, kid. You don’t have to go. I was just being unreasonable,” and his face took on a faintly bashful cast. 

“I know for a fact that the big galoot put your name on the lease as soon as you left for Colombia so you would have somewhere to come home to, and as far as I know, it’s still there. Am I right?” and he pinned Jim with a speculative look. 

“Er, yeah. Yeah, it is,” Jim replied somewhat sheepishly. “To be honest, I’d forgotten that. But I’m glad I did it. It should have happened way before. Then I couldn’t have thrown you out,” and his face twisted in self-disgust for a moment. 

Both men looked at Blair, concerned at his silence and also his demeanour as he turned his face away, throat working as he fought to contain his emotions. As one they moved towards him, seeing his knees begin to buckle as his strength and energy failed him once again, and this time it was Simon who swept the trembling body into his strong arms, to deposit him back onto the small bed he had so recently vacated. 

“Rest, kid. And don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up,” and he smiled softly into Blair’s drooping and barely focussed eyes, in exactly the same way he had done for his son so many times before. 

Somehow he was going to survive this. To get over himself for the sake of this precious and damaged young man. 

It was the least he could do.  


\--------------------------------------------  


**Part 3: Truth and Consequences:**  


**The loft, later that morning:**  


When Blair awoke again, it was to a seriously protesting bladder, so even though he didn’t relish the thought of getting out of bed, it was rapidly becoming a necessity. Biting his lip against the groan that wanted to escape, he pushed himself shakily up onto his elbows, only to look up into Jim’s gently smiling face. 

“Um, guess you heard me, huh?” he muttered, blushing in embarrassment. 

“Yep. And I know what you need, Junior, so how about you let me help you, OK?” Jim’s tone was affable and his offer plainly genuine, so despite his awkwardness, Blair knew he’d be a fool not to take Jim up on it. Especially if he wanted to avoid a messy accident. 

“OK. I think that could be an idea,” he muttered reluctantly, and pushed himself up further only to squawk in surprise when Jim scooped him up into his powerful arms, settling his burden comfortably against his chest with one arm beneath Blair’s knees and the other around his waist. 

Burying his now scarlet face against Jim’s shoulder, Blair moaned almost sub-vocally, “Oh, man! This is like, so demeaning!” 

And he heard the rumble of Jim’s chuckle beneath his ear as Jim replied, “Don’t worry, Chief. This isn’t something I’d do on a regular basis, I assure you! Even half-starved you’re no featherweight, kiddo. Just don’t want you collapsing before you get to take care of business, OK?” 

Arriving at the bathroom door, Jim shoved it open with his hip, then deposited Blair carefully on his feet beside the commode. 

“Thanks, Jim,” Blair muttered, already fighting with his fly fastening. “I can take it from here, honest!” 

Backing off to give his friend some privacy, Jim replied a little uncertainly, “If you’re sure, Chief?” and, from behind the door, “Look, why don’t you have that shower when you’re done? I’ll find you some clean clothes, OK? 

“And don’t lock the door! Just in case!” 

“Yes, Dad,” Blair snipped back, with just a hint of his former spirit, and Jim rejoiced to hear it as he closed the door carefully behind him. 

Left alone, Blair quickly pushed down jeans and boxers, and sat down to take care of business. He was feeling very weak still, so standing wasn’t the best idea, but his relief was enormous as he finally emptied his over-stressed bladder. 

When he was done, he contemplated the offer of a shower, which was so very tempting. He felt grungy and his hair was a greasy mess, so standing with care, he flushed the commode, then sat down again on the closed lid to divest himself of his rumpled clothing. That done, he pushed up to his feet again, and, bracing himself with one hand against the tiled wall, he took an experimental step towards the shower. 

And slid down to his butt with a groan and a muffled thump as the room dipped and swayed sickeningly before his eyes. 

“Oh gods! Major head-rush,” he moaned softly, unsurprised when a strong arm wrapped around his shaking shoulders and he was eased back up onto the closed toilet seat. 

“It’s OK, Chief, I’m here. I thought this might happen. Look, let me help you, OK? I’ll run you a bath instead. I think under the circumstances it’s a safer option.” 

And as a red-faced Blair nodded sheepishly, Jim wrapped his friend in a warm bath towel and left him sitting quietly while he did just that. 

Once the bath was run to sentinel satisfaction, Jim returned to help the smaller man to his feet, and guided him over to the bath. He had to force down his rising fury as he finally got the opportunity to see the true extent of the damage done to his partner, not wanting to upset Blair any further. Lowered carefully into the warm water, Blair groaned in pleasure as the heat immediately began to relax tense and sore muscles, and with his eyes closed in bliss, he failed to see the angry frown on Jim’s face as the older man swiftly catalogued his condition. 

It wasn’t just the prominent ribs and general loss of weight that angered Jim as much as the marks of deliberate abuse on his friend’s body. Despite the tanned skin and the wiry muscle, plus the calloused palms and broken nails on the long-fingered, capable hands that suggested a lot of outdoor manual labour, Blair didn’t look at all healthy. And the healing and silvering scars on his back and shoulders were proof of more than one cruel whipping. Added to that, there were several puckered, tell-tale marks of burns, probably made by a cigarette, on various parts of Blair’s body, which must have hurt like hell. And to add insult to injury, the pale band of skin around the elegant neck suggested that Blair had been collared like a dog throughout his captivity. 

Jim’s heart clenched in sympathy and he wondered how anyone could so deliberately hurt a gentle soul like Blair. But then again, he’d had cause to witness so much brutality both in the military and as a cop that he was depressingly resigned to the fact that such inhumanity existed to a far greater extent than the average Joe and Jane Public could ever comprehend. 

Swallowing around the lump of emotion in his throat, he muttered, “Shall I leave you to enjoy a soak for a while, Chief? If you want me to help with your hair or anything, just ask. I’ll hear you. 

“And don’t even think of trying to get out on your own, OK?” he added firmly. 

“No one here wants you to fall and crack your head!” but his gentle smile and the concern in his eyes took the sting out of his words. 

Turning his head to look at Jim, Blair smiled softly, his eyes telegraphing his gratitude and affection. 

“Thanks Jim. For everything. Yeah, I’d like to soak for a bit, but if you could help with the hair, that’d be great. Ought to get it cut really,” he added almost as an afterthought. “Never got the chance before, and Ramos liked it long.” 

Then visibly shaking himself to dispel that morbid train of thought, he forced a grin as he tried for a touch of humour. “Not that short, though!” and his expression was one of relief when Jim played along and simply ruffled the long and tangled mane. “Not the hair, man!”  


\--------------------------------  


Some short while later Jim and Blair emerged from the bathroom with Blair supported by Jim’s strong arm wrapped around his waist. Although still frighteningly fragile-looking, and leaning gratefully into Jim’s hold, at least Blair was clean, freshly shaven and his long hair was tangle-free and tied back neatly at his nape. Having said that, the shorter strands were beginning to fluff out a little as they dried to halo his head in a cloud of tiny curls. 

Seated on the sofa, Simon watched them approach, and although he appreciated the drastic improvement in Blair’s general appearance, his chest tightened in sympathy at the marks of ill-treatment and privation deeply etched on the thin face. And despite his frequent off-hand and dismissive attitude towards the ex-grad student in the past, he realised that he missed the bounce and sassiness to which he had grown accustomed. 

Then again, he mused, it had been a while since he had witnessed that bubbling enthusiasm. In fact, looking back, it was probably before the fountain and the ‘Alex’ debacle. And considering that he had been known to refer to Blair as one of ‘his people’ on occasion he was guiltily aware that he should have made a greater effort to offer the kid the same level of support. 

Determinedly shoving that thought and its accompanying guilty feelings aside, he stood to make room for Blair, guessing that Jim would want to sit beside his charge, and stomped down hard on the barb of self-pity that pierced his heart at the notion. 

Now was not the time to burden Blair with Simon’s hurt feelings. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that his disappearance had sparked the deeper relationship between him and Jim, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to be man enough to refrain from hurting Blair any more than he already had. 

Because it was a given that the tender-hearted younger man would pick up on any emotional undercurrents so it was up to Simon to make certain that he keep his hurt and resentment under control in Blair’s presence. 

Right now there were more prosaic matters to attend to, the most important being to get Sandburg to eat. 

“Well, you sure clean up nice, kid,” he began, his expression and tone far more amiable and sympathetic than either Jim or Blair expected, for which Blair in particular was very grateful and relieved. His shy smile touched the big captain’s heart even as he missed the sort of cheeky comeback the pre-fountain Sandburg might have made. 

“Seeing as it’s nearer lunchtime than breakfast, what do you fancy to eat?” and he could have bitten his tongue as Blair immediately looked guilty, ducking his head and chewing his lip before replying. 

“Sorry, guys,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to crash out for so long. I’ll have anything you want to prepare, really. I don’t want to impose any more than I already have.” 

“Oh Blair,” Jim sighed. “Simon didn’t mean that as a criticism. Just a genuine enquiry. I mean, I’m happy to have a late breakfast of eggs and toast,” he continued, deliberately choosing something that Sandburg had been particularly partial to, and which would probably go down well in his current state. Picking up immediately on Jim’s intent, Simon responded quickly. 

“Sounds good to me. I can always eat eggs. So, do you want me to start getting them ready?” 

He was gratified when Blair smiled at him again, answering with a soft, “Yes, please. That’d be great.” 

Moving quickly to the kitchen to start doing just that, Simon admitted to himself that his eagerness to cook was an excuse to escape for a while from Blair’s present fragility of both mind and body. He knew he should have more patience and understanding, but feeling such empathy and being able to act on it were two different things. He wasn’t proud of his deficiency in the coping and nurturing department, but he accepted it, and just prayed that it wouldn’t be so very long until the feisty observer they knew and loved was back. 

It could take a long time, however, because despite Blair’s previous propensity for fast-talking and verbal tap dancing, Simon knew as well as Jim did that it had disguised a surprisingly low level of self-esteem, and right now, that same self-esteem must be in minus figures. The sooner the kid got into some serious therapy the better, in Simon’s opinion.  


\---------------------------------------------  


Not long afterwards, with brunch eaten and the clean-up done, the three sat relatively comfortably in the living room, mugs of coffee in their hands, and with a Jags replay playing softly on the TV in the background. Jim and Blair sat side by side on the sofa, while Simon chose the armchair set catty-corner, ruefully certain that any closer proximity would undoubtedly make Sandburg even more uneasy than he already was. He was somewhat surprised that Jim hadn’t pulled the smaller man closer to him, but was cynically aware that his friend and probably soon-to-be ex-lover was deliberately trying not to make the situation even more awkward. Taking a final swig of his coffee, he set the mug down on the coffee table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he attracted and held their attention. It was time to do some serious talking, and he decided that it was up to him to get the ball rolling. 

“So, kid, you liked my eggs, huh?” he began, trying to ease into the moment. Both he and Jim had been relieved to see Blair manage to eat a decent portion, knowing that the young man needed all the calories he could get. 

Smiling softly, Blair met his quizzical gaze, his low-pitched voice just a little more firm and convincing as he replied, “Yeah, thanks Simon. They were really good. Best meal I’ve had in a while.” 

“Good, I’m pleased to hear it. You need a lot more meat on your bones, kiddo. I have to admit that, seeing the state of you, I was wondering how you had the strength and energy to travel back by yourself. I mean, I’m surprised your friends in Bogota allowed you to leave so soon. Not that we aren’t glad to see you, of course,” he added hurriedly as Blair’s face clouded and Jim’s brows drew together censoriously. 

However, Blair seemed to rally a little as he placed a soothing hand on Jim’s knee and sent him a placatory smile. 

“It’s OK, Jim. I know that you both need to know as much as I can tell you so you can decide where we go from here. It…it’s just that I can’t talk about a lot of what they…ah…what they did to me yet, OK? I felt so…so… _humiliated,”_ and his anxious expression appealed to both of them for their understanding. 

“But if necessary, I swear I won’t make trouble if you want me to go. Brendan – Father Malone, that is - says I can go back any time to continue my teaching, and next time I’ll be a lot more careful. 

“Anyhow,” he hurried on, cutting off whatever retort Jim intended to make, “To answer your question, Simon. To be honest, they didn’t actually ‘allow’ me to go. I sort of signed myself out AMA, because I…I felt the need to get back. To see Jim…” and he tailed off, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on Jim, appealing mutely for his approbation. 

“Aw, Chief,” murmured Jim, and this time he gave in to his desire to pull the smaller man to him. 

“I don’t know what to say. I should have come down to collect you myself, but I didn’t know whether you’d have wanted to see me. I already felt so bad because I let you go in the first place, and was too chickenshit to ask you to return months ago in case you turned me down. I would have deserved it if you wanted no more to do with me after I hurt you so badly, but I didn’t want to hear you say it. So I hid behind my wounded pride and left you out in the cold. Left it up to you to make the first move towards reconciliation if that’s what you wanted for us. Fear-based responses strike again, huh? 

“And I really thought you were dead, Chief. And I couldn’t bear it. If it hadn’t been for Simon, I don’t think I could have survived the guilt and despair. So I turned off the senses, and tried to convince myself that I had accepted my new life and moved on. 

“But the gods help me, I have never been so relieved or so grateful for anything in all my life as I was when I heard you had survived, even if you never wanted anything to do with me again.” 

As he watched the myriad expressions chase themselves across Blair’s mobile features, from hurt and pain, through shock and denial, he was pinned by the wounded but steady gaze from the big blue eyes. Eyes that were shiny with unshed tears for his sentinel, not for himself. 

“Oh, Jim! I’m so sorry you suffered so much because of me. I thought I was doing us both a favour by making myself scarce for a while. I wanted…hoped…to return by the time you were fit enough to go back out in the field, but when I heard nothing more from you, I believed that it was over, and you didn’t want me back under any circumstances. 

“So I threw myself into my work at the school, because I felt that at least I was doing something worthwhile. And Father Malone was prepared to keep me on for as long as I wanted to stay. 

“But then a couple of rival families got into a turf war over drug distribution, and I got caught in the middle. I still don’t understand really what Ramos wanted me for, unless it was as a symbol of his ‘accomplishments’ and an attempt to usurp his elder brother’s power within the family hierarchy and as leader of the Salazar cartel.” 

He ducked his head then, overwhelmed for a moment by his memories, and fighting against the fresh tears of fear and anger which threatened to fall. Anger for the all the unwarranted hurts and humiliation visited on him by his cruel and ruthless captors, and fear that he was too broken - too unworthy now – to have any claim to Jim and Simon’s friendship and respect anymore. 

When Jim’s large, warm hand began to rub soothing circles on his bony back, he was completely undone, and had to cover his face with his hands as the near-silent but anguished sobs began; ashamed to need the other man’s comforting touch so much, but so grateful for it anyway. 

Goddess, but he was so sick of all the tears. 

At that point, Simon knew that he had to make himself scarce. Although he had nothing but compassion for the suffering young man, he was only human, and his own feelings were in disarray. It was obvious that sentinel and guide were headed toward some sort of reconnection and reconciliation, and God help him, he didn’t want to be there to see it. After a lifetime of single-minded application, he was unused now to the concept of being on the outside looking in. In fact, the last time he had felt anything like that sort of insecurity was before he gritted his teeth, dug his heels in, and against all opposition and underlying racist dogma and intolerance, had proved himself worthy of his promotion to Captain of Major Crimes. 

Coughing gently to attract his friends’ attention he offered them a wry grin as he said, “Look, guys, I’m going to leave you alone for a while to talk. It’s OK. I know it’s necessary, but I’m feeling like a fifth wheel here. My problem, not yours. But you know me. Not comfortable with the sentinel voodoo shit. So if you need to discuss the esoteric, you can do it without me, OK? 

“I’m going back to my apartment for the night to give us all some space. I’ll be fine, because Daryl’s staying there at the moment. Might even give us the opportunity to mend some bridges, huh?” 

And before either Jim or Blair could respond, he stood and headed purposefully for the door, unable to bear Sandburg’s red-rimmed eyes and guilt-ridden gaze any more than he wanted to see Jim’s similarly guilty and sympathetic expression. His heart might be bleeding, but he was damned if he was going to plead for love and understanding. Jim was going to have to come to terms with that on his own.  


\-------------------------------------  


Once the door had shut behind Simon, both Jim and Blair felt distinctly uncomfortable, with Blair in particular feeling instrumental in driving the big man away. Truly, the last thing he had intended was to disrupt whatever life Jim had made for himself, although when he thought about it, his very appearance could have done nothing less. It was just that he had believed so strongly in the dream-vision; had believed so unreservedly in Incacha’s prophetic words; that it hadn’t occurred to him that his single-minded determination to achieve his goal might have destroyed another man’s happiness. 

And since Simon was that other man, Blair’s distress was all the more acute. 

“Oh goddess, I’m so sorry,” he murmured worriedly. “I should have known better. Should have contacted you first instead of just turning up like a bad penny. It was just that Incacha seemed so sure that you wanted – needed – me back.” 

Puzzled, Jim stared at him curiously for a moment. “Incacha? When did you see Incacha, Chief?” 

He was genuinely interested, if not a little hurt, because it was he who usually had dream-visions whether he wanted them or not, and he had to quash a pang of jealousy over the fact that this time it appeared that Blair had been chosen for a visit. But when he heard Blair’s explanation, he derided himself for his churlishness and petty hurt. 

“Um, it was the night Ramos told me what was in store for me. I was hurting pretty bad from what they did to me when they took me, and I was feeling pretty low. I had every intention of trying to get him to kill me quickly, because I didn’t want to live like that. But Incacha came to me in a dream, and told me I had to fight. Had to fight to survive because you needed me whether you liked it or not. He said you’d never be whole again or be the Sentinel of the Great City unless I returned to you willingly as your partner. Although he did warn me that the way back would be hard. 

“I’m sorry, Jim. I took him at his word and promised I’d survive somehow. I should have known better than to trust in some pain-induced fantasy.” 

“No, Chief, you did right. I’m glad you had support from someone, even if it was from a dead shaman! I have no right to be jealous or angry. Far from it. He was right, Blair. He was a good friend and a wise man, and still is, wherever he is now and I thank him for it. Thank him for you, and the gift of your return.” 

Sighing in relief, Blair allowed himself to be pulled close again, relishing the warmth and comfort, and soaking up Jim’s honest affection. If things didn’t work out after all, at least he had these few minutes of real love and connection to remember and treasure whatever the future might bring.  


\--------------------------------------------  


Some way across town, Simon drove steadily towards the pleasant residential area where his apartment block was located, a small smile on his face as he chatted on his hands-free to Daryl. Although still less than sanguine about the most recent turn of events, the on-going conversation with his son was gradually smoothing out the worst of his hurts. Yes, he was still determined to find some sort of solution to their current impasse which wouldn’t hurt Blair any further, or leave Simon himself out in the cold, but Daryl’s response so far, although slightly wary, promised eventual understanding between father and son as their phone conversation progressed. 

Initially impatient and short with his father, Daryl was obviously mollified by Simon’s reasonable tone, and overjoyed to hear of Blair’s return to the loft. With increasing warmth, he agreed that he would look forward to really talking with his Dad on Simon’s arrival, and even promised to call out for a pizza to share for dinner. By the time Simon rang off, his smile had widened to a real grin, and he approached the private parking lot across the road from his apartment building with eager anticipation. 

Locking his car, he stepped up to the kerbside and pressed the button to activate the signal on the crosswalk, a glance up at his apartment window revealing Daryl waving and grinning cheerfully down at him. Returning the wave with a happy smile, Simon automatically checked both ways once the ‘Walk’ sign lit up, and stepped out into the road. 

Watching from above, Daryl’s grin froze on his face as he spotted the big Dodge Durango hurtling around the corner, heading at speed for his father. 

And Simon never knew what hit him since his neck was broken on impact as he was tossed into the air like a rag doll to smack against the Durango’s windshield.  


\-----------------------------------  


**Earlier that morning:**  


In a comfortable townhouse not very far from Simon’s apartment building, Fred Schwarz was having a very bad day. At breakfast that morning, Edie, his wife of forty-odd years, had announced that she had invited her widowed sister to come and stay for two weeks. Almost choking on his coffee, Fred had gone ballistic. He could barely stand his sister-in-law for the occasional brief and unavoidable family get-together, let alone have her under his roof. Maud was a spiteful bitch, and he wanted nothing to do with her. In fact, privately Fred thought her deceased husband was better off out of things, although he wouldn’t dare say that to Edie. Shit! Only last week Edie had emailed her a photo of Fred standing beside his new pride and joy, a bright red Dodge Durango, and all the bitch could do was ask why he needed a frickin’ fire truck! Edie thought it was funny, but Fred had been incensed. Needless to say, Fred had adamantly refused to allow the visit, while Edie, mouth pinched into a thin and uncompromising line, insisted otherwise. Not only that, but she demanded that Fred drive her to the mall to get new bed linen for the spare room, because she knew very well that he wouldn’t condone her driving his precious truck. 

All the way to the mall they bickered and sniped at one another, and by the time the purchases were made – far too expensive in Fred’s opinion – his temper had reached boiling point. As he approached his neighbourhood, Fred found it harder and harder to concentrate on his driving as Edie harped on and on and on, pushing each and every one of his buttons with malicious precision. Turning in his seat to yell at his intransigent wife, he didn’t even register the stop signal on the crosswalk and was still accelerating as he barrelled down the residential street, the first inkling that something was wrong when Edie screamed in horror, and the next instant a loud thud was followed by a heavy weight smacking into his windshield, cracking the glass into a spiderweb pattern at point of impact. 

Braking to a halt, Fred was out of the truck and running back to check on who he had hit; horrified to see a tall, smartly-dressed black man lying on his back in the middle of the road, his broken spectacles still hooked incongruously around one ear. At first glance he didn’t seem to have any serious injuries or abrasions, but his neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, and his sightless eyes stared at nothing from a surprised face. 

Rushing up to stop dead at her husband’s shoulder, Edie clasped her hands over her mouth, silenced by shock, and her eyes wide with horror. Husband and wife stood rooted to the spot as a good-looking young black man hurtled across the street towards them, a cell phone still clutched in his hand as he dropped to his knees beside the downed body. 

“Dad? Dad! No, Dad, _no!”_ his desperate cry broke them out of their temporary funk, and Fred knelt on the other side of the big man, although he already knew it was no use. The sirens of the police and ambulance summoned by Daryl could be heard rapidly approaching, and the young man was obviously in a state of deep shock. 

However, Edie just had to open her big mouth again as she screeched hysterically, “He stepped right out in front of Fred! Didn’t even look where he was going! It wasn’t our fault!” 

Daryl slowly raised his head to stare incredulously at her, and she was so unnerved by his almost preternaturally cold and steely-eyed expression that she actually took a step backwards. 

“I saw everything, _Ma’am_ , from just over there,” he hissed, pointing back at the nearby apartment building and pinning her with a look of utter disdain. “I saw your husband turn that corner, and he didn’t even register the crosswalk, let alone the stop sign! 

“Tell me, _Ma’am,_ just what were you two arguing about? What was so important that it led you to kill my Dad?” 

Face reflecting his bitter shame and self-disgust, Fred turned on his indignantly spluttering wife. 

“Shut up, Edie! Just for once, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

And as the ambulance pulled up to disgorge two paramedics, and two traffic cops gently addressed the distraught young man, Fred knew there was no way he was going to escape prosecution even if he was inclined to try. 

Especially when he heard the cops call in to Dispatch to report the death of Captain Simon Banks, Cascade Central PD Major Crimes Unit.  


\-------------------------------------  


**Meanwhile, at the loft:**  


Jim grinned down at the curly head resting on a pillow on his lap, his fingers carding gently through the soft strands of Blair’s ponytail as the younger man snuffled softly in his sleep. They hadn’t been cuddled together for long before Blair’s exhaustion crept up on him again, and Jim had eased him down to rest more comfortably, and also, truth be told, where he could indulge his senses in his guide’s proximity. Touch and sight were easily satisfied, while hearing extended automatically to encompass the slow and steady thrum of Blair’s heart, and the soft susurration of his breaths. And the clean and woodsy scent of a warm and sleep-rumpled guide tickled Jim’s nostrils, making him smile all the more, smugly unconcerned by his own unexpected sappiness. He was just contemplating how he would feel once taste was satisfied also when he was rudely interrupted. 

When the cordless phone shrilled unexpectedly from its location on the nearby coffee table, Jim frowned as he snatched up the handset after the first ring; hoping to prevent Blair’s being woken by the unwelcome disturbance. However, as he listened in horrified silence to the information Joel had to share, he barely registered the smaller man’s movements as Blair pushed himself shakily upright beside him, fighting off his drowsiness as he instinctively realised that something was very wrong. 

As Jim terminated the call, Blair stared at his friend’s patrician profile, frozen like granite except for the jumping muscle in his tightly-clenched jaw; testament to the distress and anger barely contained within the now tense and rigid body. Jim’s icy gaze seemed to be fixed on the far wall, but Blair could tell that his vision and thoughts were introverted, and his stony silence frightened his already anxious partner. 

“Jim? Jim, please! What’s wrong?” Blair’s voice was little more than a whisper, but the urgency and fear it conveyed were unmistakable. Nervously grasping Jim’s forearm, Blair repeated his plea, his anxiety levels ratcheting up as his fertile imagination began to conjure up all manner of terrible possibilities. But nothing he had conceived was as bad as the actual news imparted when Jim turned his cold-eyed gaze on his trembling guide, stating baldly, “Simon’s dead, Chief. That was Joel on the line. Simon was knocked down and killed outside his building less than an hour ago.” 

Shaken to the core both by the information and Jim’s icy demeanour, Blair began to shake harder as a panic attack of massive proportions threatened to overtake him. Hysteria rose to choke him as he knew – he _knew_ – that this was all his fault. He shouldn’t have listened to Incacha. Shouldn’t have pursued his own desires so blindly. His cowardice in running off to Colombia had left Jim open and vulnerable and desperate for the comfort and support that Simon had provided. 

And if he hadn’t come back, the two of them would still be happy together without Blair’s interfering and intruding upon their new-found domesticity. And if it wasn’t for Blair, Simon wouldn’t have felt the need to leave the loft today to give them some space. Wouldn’t have been in front of his apartment to get run down. 

Wouldn’t be dead. 

As Blair’s lungs struggled for air, and spots began to dance at the edges of his vision, he suddenly found himself grasped by strong hands encircling his upper arms, and was shaken almost violently as Jim snarled, “Stop it, Sandburg! Just _stop it!”_

The anger in Jim’s voice cut through Blair’s self-absorption and he gasped like a stranded fish as his wide and frightened eyes met Jim’s frowning gaze. Seeing condemnation rather than the compassion that was really motivating Jim’s actions, Blair began to apologise breathlessly even as slow, unwanted tears spilled down his thin cheeks. Too exhausted in mind or body to maintain his frenzied emotional reactions now his adrenaline-fuelled energy burst had drained away, his words were almost too soft; too broken for even sentinel hearing to pick up. 

“I’m so sorry, man. So very sorry. This is my doing, and I’ll never forgive myself. I should never have left you in the first place. But having done so, I should never have listened to Incacha and come back. You and Simon had something good between you, and I turned up and spoiled it. He should never have been at his apartment today. Wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t encroached on his space and on his patience. 

“I don’t ask you to forgive me, Jim, because I can’t forgive myself…” and his words tailed off into choked silence as his tears fell faster and he covered his face with his hands, intending to get away – go anywhere – rather than inflict himself on Jim any longer. 

Only to find that Jim was having none of it. 

Suddenly finding himself grabbed again and turned back around, this time a furious Jim grasped his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face, forcing Blair to meet his almost incandescent glare. 

“Oh, I don’t _think_ so, Sandburg! How _dare_ you, you self-righteous, egotistical little prick! What gives you the right to corner the market on guilt, huh? Huh? Since when did this whole sorry mess become your particular burden to bear?” 

As Blair listened in astounded, open-mouthed silence, the dam of Jim’s habitual taciturnity was breached at last, and his heart-felt words poured out in a flood of released emotion. 

“Have you forgotten that it was my attitude that forced you to seek some space in the first place? Or that I didn’t try to convince you to come home sooner because I was wallowing too much in my own self-pity? 

“And what makes you think that my relationship with Simon was purely for my benefit and created simply out of the goodness of his own heart? 

“Listen to me, Chief. Blair. And allow me the right to own my own share of guilt. 

“Yes, I was more than fond of Simon, and I truly appreciated his care and support. I respected him, and I can’t even begin yet to get my head around the fact that I’ll never hold him again, or talk to him. Or even work with him. 

“But I know I didn’t love him, not like I believe he loved me. He did deserve better of me in that respect, but he benefited from our partnership too. He freely admitted that the physical side to our relationship was important to him, just as was the everyday friendship and companionship we shared. He didn’t want to be alone, any more than I did. And he was even prepared to put up with Daryl’s anger and intolerance to maintain that level of comfort. 

“And as for your survival, and Incacha’s words to you, what makes you think you’re undeserving of some reward; some happiness for a change after everything you’ve been through? Even if that reward’s in the guise of a cranky, ungrateful, middle-aged cop? 

“If anyone’s to blame, Chief, it’s me. For being so reluctant to accept what you always saw as a gift to be proud of, so much so that I pushed you away and belittled you when I should have welcomed you and your unstinting loyalty and guidance with open arms. 

“Stay with me, Blair. Let’s help each other face this tragedy together, and try to make some sense of it.” 

By the time he had finished speaking, Jim’s own tears had begun to trickle down his face and the unexpected sight broke Blair’s heart anew. Reaching out, he enfolded the bigger man in his arms, offering and receiving comfort as they clung together, united in their love for one another and their shared grief for the loss of a valued friend and a good man.   


\-----------------------------------------------  


**Part 4: The Truth shall set You Free:**  


The next few days were desperately hard on all Simon’s friends and colleagues, and his tragic demise sent shockwaves throughout the whole Police Department. On a purely practical note, Joel Taggart was entrusted with the role of Acting Captain of Major Crimes, and was expected to be confirmed in the position very shortly. His previous leadership experience and his intimate knowledge of Major Crimes made him the best candidate by far. However, the whole unit had been shaken to the core and the necessary work continued beneath a cloud of disbelief and no little anger. 

Nevertheless, that anger wasn’t directed at either Jim or Blair; however guilty and ashamed Blair still couldn’t help but feel. He had been persuaded, albeit with marked reluctance, to accompany Jim to the PD when the older man reported in, and had approached the visit with no little trepidation. However, much to his amazement the majority of people he encountered had welcomed him back, if not with dancing and celebration under the circumstances, at least with genuine relief at his survival and real affection from his closer friends. Megan and Joel in particular showered him with hugs and kisses (the latter from Megan) and H and Rafe slapped his back and ruffled his hair with easy bonhomie. But however undeserving and uncomfortable he felt as the recipient of such honest goodwill and open camaraderie, he kept it to himself, knowing that it wasn’t about him. His friends needed something to distract them from their bitter sense of loss, and it would be ungrateful and cruel of him to cause them unnecessary distress and ill-feeling by drawing the wrong sort of attention to himself. So he drew on his considerable acting ability once more; plastered a convincing enough smile of gratitude and affability on his face; and buried his own pain and problems deep inside. 

And it had to be said that part of the reason he and Jim were accepted back into the group with relative ease was because the exact nature of Jim and Simon’s relationship had never been common knowledge. Sure, there were those who had suspected it was more than just a close friendship between two lonely individuals, just as they had always assumed the worst of Jim and Blair, but the only one who had known the real truth about them was Daryl, and he wasn’t telling. 

The whole of MCU had rallied around Daryl, but much to Blair’s surprise the young man had immediately gravitated towards him and Jim for comfort and support. The morning after the accident, the distraught young man had knocked on the door of #307, and had been admitted by a red-eyed and exhausted Blair, Jim having gone down to the bakery to fetch bagels for a breakfast neither of them really wanted. 

Rather than punch him out, as Blair had half expected him to, instead Daryl had thrown his arms around Blair, hugging him tightly and professing himself to be so glad that Blair had returned. Initially too shaken to do anything but offer physical comfort and support, Blair had sat him down and busied himself in making them both some tea, after throwing the afghan from the back of the sofa around the hunched shoulders. It was plain to see that Daryl was almost at the end of his tether, having had to deal with the immediate fallout from the accident during a very long night. 

As soon as the tea was ready, Blair brought both cups over and settled beside Daryl on the sofa, hitching around to sit sideways on so he could study the desolate youngster. 

“Oh, man. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am about Simon,” Blair began, reaching over to squeeze Daryl’s knee. “I know Joel was there for you, but we should have come over. Should have been there to help you too. But I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me – us – and our presence would upset you even more. Jim told me you weren’t happy with his relationship with your father, and I thought that by arriving unannounced I precipitated the whole incident. 

“I didn’t realise Simon was here, you see, and I’m sorry to say that I made a bit of a fool of myself. Pathetic, huh?” and he blushed deeply at the recollection of his emotional melt-down. 

_Gods! Was it really only two days – no, even less - than two days ago?_

“But I swear I would never have gotten between them, Daryl. I’d have left them in peace if they’d asked it of me and I truly wouldn’t have wished any harm on your Dad.” 

Despite his despair, Daryl had surprised Blair with his maturity when he responded, as he did Jim also. Jim had been on his way back to the loft at that moment, but had paused to listen in from the corridor, uncertain as to whether he should walk in on what was so obviously an emotional exchange. He didn’t want to inflict his presence on Daryl until he knew how the young man felt about him, but neither did he want to leave Blair unsupported should Daryl start making unwarranted and ill-considered accusations in his grief and hurt Blair more than he was already. However, he needn’t have worried, as Daryl said feelingly, “I know that, Blair. None of this was your fault, man. I didn’t come here to accuse you of anything, just to tell you how much I missed you, and that I always believed you would come back. 

“I know it probably seemed stupid to Dad and to Jim that I kept saying you would survive, but I was so sure. And that was what made me so mad at Jim –at them both – for giving up on you. 

“And because of that, I couldn’t condone their getting together. I saw it as a betrayal – just one more after Jim had hurt you so much already and let you take the fall for him. Don’t try and deny it, Blair. Everyone who knows you realises that you lied about that paper for Jim’s sake. I know for a fact that the detectives in MCU were all aware of Jim’s ‘edge’, just as they knew when he’d stopped using it. There are more people at the PD who think you’re a hero for falling on your sword to protect your partner than believe you got your comeuppance for trying to sell him out, Blair, and I’m sure the same goes for Rainier, too.” 

When Blair opened his mouth in an automatic attempt at rebuttal, he held up his hand in a silencing gesture, saying, “No, Blair, don’t say anything yet. Let me finish, please,” and as Blair subsided, albeit reluctantly, he continued. 

“But the one thing – the one bit of real comfort I have – is that Dad and I weren’t arguing any more when he died. We’d been chatting on the phone, and we were going to have a real heart-to-heart talk over a pizza. We were both looking forward to it. To spending some time together. I…I was watching him when it happened, Blair. We were waving and grinning at each other, but he didn’t just step out into the road without thinking. He was using the crosswalk, not distracted at all. 

“It was an accident, Blair. A stupid accident caused by a husband and wife arguing on their way home from the mall. Can you believe it? Dad died because the husband had turned around to yell at his wife! Just a stupid, unnecessary accident!” and the tears of inconsolable grief had flowed anew as Blair took him in his arms, offering his whole-hearted sympathy and support just as he had to Jim a mere few hours previously. 

Jim had entered quietly at that point, but had refrained from approaching the pair until he felt that Daryl was a little more together. His heart bled for the young man, but he would have been lying if he denied feeling uncomfortable at hearing Daryl’s words concerning him, his ‘gift’ and his treatment of his guide. But like Blair, he too was glad that Simon had been working on a real reconciliation with his son when the accident had occurred, knowing that Daryl would never have forgiven himself if he had still been angry and estranged from his father at Simon’s untimely death.  


\---------------------------------------------------  


As it turned out, Daryl had spent the rest of the day and that night at the loft, greatly comforted by the support of both men. They encouraged him to talk about his Dad, recalling all the good times together and sharing their own fond memories and experiences. And when evening drew near, Blair asked if he wanted to stay over rather than return to an empty apartment – although not without checking with Jim first, as he still felt uncertain of his standing with Jim despite their earlier soul-searching session. From bitter experience he knew that Jim could change his mind without warning, so Blair was understandably somewhat gun-shy and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Daryl had accepted the offer gladly, saying, “If you’re really sure, yeah, I’d appreciate it, Blair. I didn’t fancy the idea of another night on my own in Dad’s apartment. I feel closer to him here, if you can understand what I mean. See, his place is sort of sterile – un-lived in – but with the things that were important to him here around me, well, it’s comforting, you know?” 

And Blair did know, but it was no comfort to him, although he would never have admitted it, or the reason why it was so. It was true. With Simon’s favourite knickknacks scattered throughout the loft, it really did seem more like his home than Blair’s now, and it was Blair who felt like the outcast. He knew he was being unreasonable, but gods, it hurt to see someone else’s things in place of his own. 

Having said that, he figured he had given up the right to feel bad, having packed up his own stuff before leaving for Colombia, so, swallowing his own hurt with the ease of long practice, he grinned at his young friend and went to fetch bedding to make up the sofa since he fully intended to sleep in his own room again if allowed. It never even occurred to him that Jim might have wanted him to share the big bed upstairs. 

The bed which Blair was certain must still bear the faint imprint of Simon’s big body, detectable by sentinel senses, at least. And in Jim’s memory, for sure.  


\------------------------------------------  


The following morning, after having spent a surprisingly peaceful night in the company of his friends, Daryl announced over breakfast that he would be returning to Simon’s apartment until the funeral. His Mom would be arriving later that morning, so he would stay with her to keep her company. Joan had been visiting family in Atlanta when the accident happened, so had had to extricate herself from them as soon as she could, hence the slight delay, but she had called Daryl to say she was on her way. 

Thanking both Jim and Blair for their help and companionship over the past few hours, Daryl had left #307 with a brief hug for Jim, and a much longer one for Blair, promising that he’d be seeing them again before the funeral, and admonishing Blair to get some rest himself, as even to Daryl’s troubled and preoccupied eyes, the smaller man looked alarmingly drawn and pale. 

Once their unexpected guest had departed, Blair sank wearily down onto the nearest seat and tried not to give in to his own needs. Everything was closing in on him again, and he couldn’t seem to get his head around who he was now and what the future could possibly hold for him. He felt disconnected from reality, and it was as much as he could do to get through the day; and even that had seemed like a daunting prospect at the time. 

Frowning worriedly, Jim had scanned the hunched figure carefully, not liking what his senses were telling him. Barely recovering from the privations of his captivity, Blair was still trying to come to terms with the changes in his and Jim’s relationship, and Simon’s death had affected him deeply, coming so hard on the heels of so many other shocks to his weakened system. Added to that, his gentle and giving nature made it inevitable that he put aside his own grief in order to comfort Simon’s distraught son – and, truth be told, Jim also. It couldn’t go on. Jim needed to care for Blair now, and for as long as it took. 

Sitting beside his drooping partner, he had pulled the unresisting body into his arms, whispering soothing words and encouraging the smaller man to lie down once again with his head on Jim’s lap, and this time hoping against hope that no other tragic news would arrive to break their much-needed rest and reconnection.  


\---------------------------------------  


**Friday morning; The Evangelical Church of Christ, Cascade:**  


The morning of Simon’s funeral was grey and overcast, but at least the rain had held off thus far. The church, with which the Banks family had been connected for many years, was packed out with friends, family and colleagues, all there to pay their respects to their fallen comrade, son, father and sometime lover as appropriate. The massed ranks of police officers waiting outside to take part in the traditional procession to the cemetery were as impressive as one might expect for the demise of a fellow officer, whether killed in the line of duty or not, but in Simon’s case the gathering was even greater than normal. During his career he had amassed a great deal of respect for his efforts and successes in whatever rank he had held, and as captain of MCU, he had commanded much more, even if somewhat grudgingly on the part of those peers who actively disliked or resented him. And the presence of the Chief of Police, the Commissioner, and the Mayor bore testament to the esteem in which they had held him even if the more cynical amongst those attending might attribute an element of self-interest to their motives; perhaps hoping to benefit from the media coverage they would undoubtedly receive. 

Jim and Blair sat together at the end of the front row of seating, directly behind the raised platform upon which Simon’s flower-draped casket lay. Daryl had insisted that he wanted Blair next to him, over-riding Blair’s arguments that it should be family only. Blair felt that he had no right to intrude on their private grief, but had been persuaded by other family members including Simon’s elderly parents and even Joan, Simon’s ex-wife, who agreed that it would be good for Daryl to have the support of someone he liked and admired so much. 

Needless to say, Blair couldn’t understand why this should be so and considered himself to be undeserving of the honour, but acceded to Daryl’s request rather than cause the young man more upset. He did, however, manage to avoid having to deliver any part of the eulogy, as even Daryl could see that he was in no condition to do so. 

But perhaps no one but Jim actually realised just how much extra stress this whole situation was putting his guide under, and he couldn’t help but feel angered by their unintentionally burdensome demands on someone who was presently so ill-equipped to bear them. 

From Jim’s perspective, the whole episode was certainly harrowing, but for several different reasons. He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t been asked to speak about Simon because as far as most of Simon’s family knew, he was just one of their deceased relative’s subordinates, even if closer than most. Daryl knew better, for sure, and Jim suspected than Joan did also, but that made it even more unlikely that he be approached. He supposed that he should feel hurt or offended, but in truth he hated speaking in public anyway, and felt that what he wanted to say to his captain, friend and lover should stay between them. 

On the other hand, he was desperately worried on Blair’s account, because he knew his guide was perilously close to the edge despite his carefully constructed attempt at relative normality. Normal in Sandburgian terms, that was. Although they had held each other for long periods every evening thus far, and exchanged mutual comfort on a pretty much platonic level, Blair was way too fragile to be coaxed into Jim’s bed yet, so had retired each night to his small room. And Jim knew only too well that the younger man had very little real rest, any more than did Jim; their individual troubled thoughts preventing anything more than a few hours’ restless sleep. 

Jim knew for sure that Blair suffered nightmares of epic proportions, whether about his captivity or the events since his return; so Jim had become accustomed to quietly entering Blair’s small room, there to sit by his friend’s bedside offering silent comfort until the younger man slept peacefully again. 

On his own account, he was stricken by both his personal sense of loss and his desire to make things right with his guide. Part of his problem was that he believed that he should be feeling more upset and guilty than he actually did about Simon’s death. Yes, he felt bereft and grieved for a good man who had deserved far longer on this earth to live out a life of great worth and benefit to his fellow man. 

But on the other hand, he realised that he personally wasn’t suffering as much as he had expected to on the premature loss of a lover, and that bothered him far more. And that was probably because the real focus of his attention - and indeed, the centre of his universe now he had the balls to admit it - had returned to him, and that was what he needed to concentrate on for the foreseeable future. 

Glancing down at the haggard figure pressed closely if discreetly to his side, Jim once again assessed Blair’s physical condition, his brows furrowing in real concern as his senses checked in. 

Blair was wearing his only good suit, which now hung from his thin frame, and a formal shirt and tie. His hair was pulled back neatly in a ponytail at his nape, and he had chosen to wear his slightly tinted wire-framed spectacles in a vain effort to hide his eyes. Eyes that were still as bruised-looking as they had been on his arrival, still too big for his face, and now red-rimmed, dull and mournful as he struggled to contain his emotions. Jim could hear the erratic tripping of Blair’s heart as well as the hitching breaths and nervous swallowing as he fought against his desire to cry, but in spite of everything, he still managed to squeeze Daryl’s arm comfortingly and offer his grieving young friend an encouraging smile and some gentle and welcome words of consolation. 

How Blair made it through the whole lengthy and emotionally-charged event without collapsing Jim never knew, but by the time they reached the final grave-side part of the ceremony, Blair was crying openly and leaning into Jim’s strong arm which was wrapped firmly around his partner’s waist. Then again, he was hardly alone in his tears, as the greater part of the large gathering was far from dry-eyed as the poignant finale played out. 

Once the service was over, Blair hugged and was hugged by Simon’s family and also his friends from the PD, but at that point Jim made their excuses and took his wilting guide home rather than attend the wake. No one tried to stop him or blame him for doing so as it was plain that Blair was at the very limit of his endurance. And truth be told, so was Jim himself.  


\-------------------------------------  


As soon as they reached 852 Prospect, Jim parked up and helped his semi-comatose partner out of the truck. Although Blair made a valiant effort to stay on his feet, by the time they reached the ancient elevator – which for once was working – he was relying on Jim’s supporting arm to keep him more or less upright. Entering #307, Jim helped the smaller man over to the sofa where he gently removed Blair’s suit coat, his restricting tie and his shoes, and settled him with his feet up, a throw pillow under his head and covered by an afghan. Throughout his ministrations, Blair scarcely stirred, his exhaustion was so absolute. 

Jim climbed the stairs to his room and changed into comfortable sweats before returning to the kitchen to retrieve a much-needed beer. Popping the top, he took a swig, then sat down opposite his slumbering partner, intending to watch over him for a while. He turned on the TV out of habit, but kept the sound down to sentinel levels so it didn’t either disturb Blair or distract him from his contemplation of the smaller man. He was relieved to see Blair actually getting some much-needed rest, although he knew his friend also needed sustenance. He himself was beginning to feel decidedly hungry, his stomach growling softly even as he thought about food. Although it was early as far as dinner was concerned, neither man had had much appetite for breakfast, and as they had forgone attending the wake they both were in need of something to eat. 

On the other hand, Blair was also desperately in need of unbroken sleep, so Jim decided to leave him in peace while he fixed himself a sandwich, intending to prepare something more substantial later once Blair woke up. 

As it turned out, Blair remained dead to the world so Jim decided that the best thing he could do for his friend was to take him to bed and leave him to catch up as best he could. Gently hefting the slender body in his arms, he grinned wryly as the smaller man barely twitched at the movement, and as soon as he had been carefully placed on his small bed, Blair simply snuffled contentedly and tried to turn over. 

Knowing that Blair would be uncomfortable if left dressed as he was, Jim used every bit of his sensitive touch to strip his partner down to his underwear and tuck him cosily under the bedcovers. Leaving the door slightly open, he crept out and returned to the great room, only to find that his own exhaustion was making itself known. Heeding the siren call of his bed, he checked and secured the loft, then climbed the stairs again, suddenly looking forward to a good night’s sleep.  


\------------------------------------  


**Early the following morning:**  


Blair blinked sleepy eyes as he rose reluctantly to consciousness, his over-full bladder complaining bitterly and demanding relief. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the bedside, he drowsily noted his rumpled underwear, but couldn’t recall getting undressed. Deciding that such puzzles could wait until business was taken care of, he lurched unsteadily to his feet and made his way to the bathroom keeping one hand on the wall to steady himself all the way there. Still half asleep and a little dizzy, he sat down again to relieve his grateful bladder as he didn’t trust himself to either miss the commode or fall over again. 

Job done, he stood carefully to wash his hands, splashing cool water on his face in an attempt to both refresh sleep-blurry eyes and stimulate his sluggish awareness. Leaning on the counter top, he stared blearily at his reflection in the mirror over the hand basin, and didn’t like what he saw. His beard-darkened cheeks were as pallid and sunken as ever, and the hollow-eyed visage looking back at him resembled that of a corpse rather than the bright-eyed hyper grad student he had once been. He swallowed hard and grimaced in self-disgust, not so much concerned on his own behalf, but with what staring constantly at the sick apparition he was now must be doing to Jim. 

It wasn’t fair on his sentinel for sure. He knew he wasn’t improving any – if anything, he was still deteriorating – although he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Or was he? Was he taking his hurt and pain out on Jim just because he could? Goddess! Surely not? He had never considered himself to be that self-centred or deliberately and maliciously devious before, but was his subconscious trying to take revenge on Jim for perceived past wrongs? Making Jim suffer like he had in the causes of unrequited love and persistent lack of trust? 

He prayed it wasn’t so, but the seed of doubt was sown, and he shuddered at the implication. If it was true, then he really was beyond redemption. For his entire life he had suffered from chronic self-doubt, but had fought against it with dogged perseverance, trusting that at least his formidable intellect might serve to carve out a niche for him somewhere. And for a few glorious months it had seemed that he had found his true vocation – as guide and helpmeet to the sentinel hero of his most cherished dreams. His ‘Holy Grail’ as he had so gleefully – and naively – announced back then. And that hope had been rekindled by his vision at the commencement of his captivity. 

But despite running himself ragged trying to appease his employers at Rainier and win approval for his efforts at the PD as Jim’s partner, he was still aware of being regarded as the fool. The nerdy joker of the weird-assed notions and the pathetic, puppy-like devotion. Simon’s ‘abiding tolerance’ hadn’t blossomed into the kind of friendship and approval Blair had desperately needed, and when he had helped Jim pack away Simon’s personal items to return to Daryl and Joan, Blair hadn’t felt comfortable or secure enough to have unpacked any of his own things to replace them. Despite Jim’s protestations, the loft no longer felt like home to him, and the cold and frightening feeling of disconnection with reality was deepening. 

He had been constantly vilified and humiliated during his captivity by cruel and heartless men who knew no better, but was that so very different from the attitude he had had to endure over the last few months of his so-called partnership with Jim? Ramos had treated him as little more than a sentient chattel, but in the months following the merge at the fountain, he had been frequently pushed aside and belittled unmercifully in front of Simon and in the bullpen; even in the presence of witnesses. Blair had been thoroughly bewildered by Jim’s increasingly ambivalent attitude towards him, and now his psyche was at its lowest ebb he couldn’t help but consider that the world would be a better place without him in it. 

With eyes now blurred from unshed tears, his wandering gaze fell on the disposable razor lying beside the basin. Picking it up, he stared fixedly at it, his mind automatically running through the simple process necessary for extracting the blade which had the power to solve all his problems. 

But even as he considered the possibility, he knew he couldn’t go through with it. He had always believed deeply in the sanctity of life, and had always asserted that the pain and grief of those left behind after a successful suicide attempt was unjustified and cruel beyond comprehension. How could he do such a thing to Naomi? She might not have been the world’s best mom in accordance with traditional social mores, but she loved him as deeply as she was able, and her own principles concerning karma and the gift of life would be shaken to their foundations. He was sure she would never forgive him for the selfish waste of a life-force and her own guilt over her unintentional triggering of the whole diss disaster would cripple her effervescent personality for the rest of her days. 

And then there was Jim. How could he hurt Jim like that? He had already witnessed how his unintentional disappearance had affected the sentinel in Jim despite their progressively rocky relationship at that time. Having said that, he didn’t deceive himself that it was on account of Blair personally but rather the loss of the only person able to offer backup when required. And without the ready availability of that person, Jim had simply chosen to shut off his senses. And at least he had had Simon to turn to then, which was no longer an option. True, Jim had turned to Blair again after his bereavement, but Blair still couldn’t believe that there was more to it than his friend seeking the comfort he so desperately needed, whatever the bigger man’s assertions. 

But he was so very tired. He felt so beaten down, worthless and dispirited and the thought of that beautiful, beckoning light and the promise of peace it offered was so very tempting now, utterly selfish or not. He turned the razor round and round in his fingers, hand shaking noticeably as the unheeded tears overflowed and coursed slowly down his face to drip off his chin as he fought to make a decision. 

A soft sound behind him made him raise his eyes again to the mirror, to see that Jim had entered the bathroom and was standing behind him, his handsome face creased with worry and real concern as he met Blair’s desolate and guilt-ridden gaze. Voice gentle and soothing, as if he were approaching a half-wild animal, Jim murmured, “What are you doing, Chief? I was worried about you. Are you OK?” 

Swallowing hard, Blair struggled to get his first words out, but once started, they fell over one another in his desperate need to explain, to plead for help and guidance. And forgiveness. 

“Please, Jim! Please help me! I can’t do this anymore, but I don’t know what to do! Please don’t let me hurt you! I can’t bear to hurt you…” and he held the razor out, eyes beseeching and arms outstretched towards the mirror in supplication as he locked eyes with Jim’s reflection, too frightened of his own reactions to turn around. 

Jim didn’t hesitate. Wrapping strong but gentle arms around Blair’s upper body, he eased the wildly trembling younger man back against his broad chest, restraining Blair’s arms effectively but without apparent intimidation or undue coercion. Although his initial instinct was to scream out his fear and rage and try to shake some sense into Blair, he realised that this was neither the time nor place to indulge in unthinking fury. He needed to connect with Blair’s broken soul if he was to even begin to heal his guide’s terrible wounds, and it was time now to do the right thing. The only thing that would save them both. 

Carefully easing the razor out of Blair’s suddenly lax grip, he tossed it aside out of reach as he firmly turned the smaller man around to face him. Still maintaining his hold on Blair’s upper arms, he commanded the younger man’s attention, his soul-deep sincerity undeniable as he made the right choice at last. 

“It’ll be OK, Chief. I’ll help you, I promise. If you still want me, I’m ready to take that trip with you, for both our sakes. Let me help you heal, Blair. And help me to heal too. Can you do that?” 

And with a shuddering sob of gratitude, immeasurable relief and pure, unadulterated love, Blair nodded wordlessly; too choked to respond around the huge lump of emotion clogging his throat. 

Wrapping an arm around Blair’s shaking shoulders, Jim tucked the smaller man snugly against his side as he exited the bathroom, instinctively turning towards Blair’s small room. He was well aware that his own big bed was no place to perform this particular rite with the ghost of Simon’s presence still too new and close for both of them. 

Pushing through the French doors, Jim eased Blair down to sit on the bed, looking down into the huge eyes whose expression pleaded so eloquently for healing and understanding. 

“Are you sure you’re OK with this, Chief?” he asked gently. “Because I won’t force you if you’ve changed your mind. But I’ve known for a long time that you weren’t indifferent to me, even though I was unwilling to acknowledge it. Too scared of the commitment and the consequences, I suppose, even though it was you I accused of being untrustworthy. But I’m ready now, if you are. Can I undress you?” 

Still unable to find his voice, Blair nodded mutely, eyes telegraphing his urgent need and desperate hope. Jim needed no further invitation, and knelt in front of his soon-to-be lover, his own expression still gentle, but desirous also as he reached out to remove Blair’s rumpled tee. 

“Still OK, babe?” he murmured as he eased the garment up and off. Blair gulped audibly and finally uttered the words Jim needed to hear. 

“Yes, Jim. I…I love you, man. I want whatever you want.” 

Taking him at his word, Jim smiled warmly, his own eyes bright with relief and pleasure as he helped Blair off with his boxers. Urging the smaller man to lie back on the bed, Jim removed his own boxers as he took in the sight before him. 

Yes, Blair was still too thin, scarred and careworn, but he was beautiful in the sentinel’s eyes, and Jim was desperate to satisfy all his senses at long last. With Blair’s slightly nervous but whole-hearted cooperation, he began to map the slender body, taking his time to learn everything he could. 

During his detailed exploration, Blair lay passively, knowing that this was what Jim needed, and more than happy to grant his sentinel’s desire. And as he was touched, tasted, sniffed, gazed upon and listened to, his own libido was roused despite his debility, and he moaned in pleasure as he was turned this way and that over an indeterminable space of time. 

Finally satisfied, Jim began his careful preparation of his guide, determined not to hurt the smaller man despite his own burgeoning lust and burning need for consummation. Lubing and stretching Blair’s passage for penetration, Jim was gratified at Blair’s increasingly passionate responses, mightily relieved when his guide pleaded, “Now, Jim. Please, take me now!” 

Jim needed no more urging, and, turning Blair on his side knowing it would be easier on the still frail frame, he eased slowly into the slick and waiting hole. Blair’s initial hiss of pain soon changed to sighs of delight and desire as Jim moved within him, gradually building up the momentum until he hit Blair’s pleasure button for the first time, eliciting a muffled scream of pure ecstasy. Moving even faster now, Jim angled his thrusts to massage the little nub, until Blair’s explosive climax triggered his own within seconds, and he filled his guide and lover at last, marking Blair as his even as he now belonged to Blair. 

Cuddling the exhausted and plaint body to him, Jim relaxed contentedly as he softened, although he was in no hurry to withdraw from Blair yet. Resting securely in the comforting circle of Jim’s embrace, Blair murmured drowsily, “Did you see them? Was it the same for you?” 

And Jim knew exactly what his lover meant. At the moment of climax, they shared a vision of a blue jungle where a sleek black jaguar ran joyously towards a beautiful silver-grey wolf, both animals leaping as one to merge once again in a glorious burst of love and light. 

And neither Jim nor Blair would ever be alone again.   


\-------------------------------------------  


**Epilogue: A New Direction:**  


**Six months later:**  


Turning into the gravelled driveway, Blair pulled up outside a pleasant two story house and climbed out of his car, pausing to give the old Volvo a pat and a fond grin. Having retrieved the elderly vehicle from its storage space in Rafael’s garage, Jim had insisted that it have a complete overhaul, and it now ran as well as it had ever done. Locking it up, Blair turned around and surveyed the property, which now belonged to him and Jim. 

After they had committed to one other, they had talked for hours about where to go from here, and Blair had shame-facedly admitted that he no longer felt as if the loft was home, despite Jim’s putting his name on the lease. He had half expected Jim to be offended or hurt, but instead the older man had simply looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “It’s OK, babe. I understand, and I know what you mean. For me, this has only ever been a real home once, and that was after you finagled your way in to stay with me. Before that it was simply a place to lay my head. I thought it would be good for both me and Carolyn, but in truth she hated it. And after she went, well, it was as it was until you breathed some life and personality into it. 

“And I hate to admit it, but even though Simon did his best to make it ‘homey’ again, it wasn’t the same. And it doesn’t feel right now to try and turn back time. His presence is too new, and I know I’ll never be comfortable in that bed again. I wouldn’t ask you to share it with me, and your room’s too small for us to use long-term. 

“So, I’m thinking it would be best for us to look at buying a place together. Something we both agree on. What do you say?” And he had ‘oomphed’ in pleased surprise when a relieved, delighted and adoring Blair had launched himself into Jim’s arms. 

And in truth it hadn’t taken long at all to make their decision. Megan had welcomed the opportunity to purchase the loft, having decided to apply for US citizenship, leaving them free to start house-hunting almost immediately. The house they both fell in love with had character, and was not too far from the neighbourhood where Jim had grown up, and where his father still lived. It needed a lot of work, hence the affordable price, but was basically sound, and Jim had thrown himself gleefully into the refurbishing, thoroughly enjoying the manual labour and the sense of achievement as the place took shape. 

Blair was also more than satisfied with the available yard-space, on which he was working diligently to create a real garden; the work relaxing and forming part of his on-going therapy. 

Because both Blair and Jim had recognised that therapy was going to be an integral part of both their lives for the foreseeable future. The consummation of their partnership had been merely the jump-off point for their mutual rehabilitation, although Blair’s need was arguably the greater. 

And there again they had fallen lucky, finding the perfect therapist to suit both of them in the person of Dr Amanda Blackwell. 

Dr Blackwell was a down-to-earth, unpretentious woman in her early middle age. Highly professional, she was empathic and intuitive, but her no-nonsense mind-set didn’t allow for poor excuses or attitude in her patients, whom she required to take their sessions as seriously as she did. 

She was working with both Jim and Blair, individually and jointly, and both men recognised and appreciated her influence on their continuing progress even when her probing questions and insightful observations were uncomfortably accurate or downright painful. 

As far as Blair was concerned, at least physically he was almost back to normal. Although still on the lean side, his scars were slowly silvering and fading, even though he was well aware that they would continue to be visible to sentinel eyes for the rest of his life. 

Mentally he was also much improved and was slowly building up his self-confidence and enthusiasm for life thanks to Jim’s unconditional support which backed up Amanda’s sessions. The inevitable multi-faceted guilt complexes and PTSD would take longer to work through, but he was making progress, for which Jim was greatly relieved. The sparkle had returned to his eyes to a great extent, and he could go whole days now without flashbacks. 

And as for Jim, he had finally accepted responsibility for his guide and for his own gift, and recognised Blair’s role in supporting it. He too had his own guilt to work through, and was still inclined to be cynical and irascible on occasion, but Blair was better equipped now to deal with it, being able to accept his lover’s short-comings and move past them, their bond smoothing the way to mutual understanding. For they were now comfortable in the surety of their love and respect for one another, neither of them begrudging their new interdependence because it guaranteed an easier path through the more difficult patches they inevitably encountered. 

It was from his latest session that Blair had just returned, and his face lit up in a happy smile as he opened the front door to reveal his lover, working hard on re-finishing the hardwood flooring. 

“Hey, Jim, how’s it going, man? It looks really great from here, I gotta say!” 

Jim’s answering grin was equally welcoming as he responded cheerfully, “Not bad, babe. It’s coming on faster than I’d expected, because the original wood’s good quality, so it should be done and dried in time for poker night.” 

“That’s good to know, lover, because I know you wouldn’t want the gang to see a half-finished floor! Having said that, they should know better than to criticise. Your work’s way better than most professional craftsmen. This place is going to be amazing in no time!” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, babe, but for now, how about you grab us both a beer and we can take a few to relax.” 

With a throaty chuckle, Blair almost bounced across the already finished portion of floor to access the kitchen and refrigerator therein to do Jim’s bidding, unconscious of Jim’s approving glance as he followed his guide’s progress. 

Beers in hand, and both of them perched comfortably on the stools at the kitchen counter, Jim took a welcome swig of the cold beverage then gazed expectantly at his partner. 

“OK, Chief, tell me how it went today. You’re certainly looking cheerful enough, so Amanda must be pleased with your progress.” 

Grinning a little self-consciously, Blair murmured, “Yeah, I think she was, Jim. She approves of our decision about the business, and says the new direction and fresh start has been good for us both. 

“And she also approves of my signing up to Florida State University’s distance-learning doctoral programme. And says that she can see a marked improvement in my capacity to face up to and own my fears. I know I’m never going to be as I was, but maybe that’s no bad thing?” he continued, his tone still somewhat uncertain despite his best efforts at nonchalance. 

And Jim knew how to respond, having learned patience enough over the last weeks to empathise with and support his still occasionally insecure lover. 

“You’re probably right, babe. I don’t think either of us expects you to return to normal after everything you’ve been through, but who you are now is what matters, and I wholly approve of my Blair!” 

“Thanks, man,” Blair replied earnestly, raising his beer to toast his partner as a slight blush of pleasure pinked his cheeks. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to have your love and support…” 

“Oh, I think I have a fair idea, Chief, because I feel the same! 

“Now, seeing as the sap is rising fast in here, how about we finish our beers, I grab a quick shower, and we go down to the marina for a late lunch? I fancy trying out that new seafood place…” 

And Blair’s face lit up with a beautiful smile as he eagerly nodded his approval.  


\------------------------------------  


Some time later Jim sat on a bench overlooking the marina, legs comfortably stretched out in front of him as he enjoyed the rare Cascade sunshine and the view. He and Blair had thoroughly enjoyed a relaxed meal of first-rate chowder and seafood pasta, and with Jim’s blessing, Blair had walked down to the waterfront to check out the new yacht basin. Jim smiled to himself as he saw Blair enter into an animated discussion with two attractive young women out walking their dog, pleased to see the glow in his guide’s face as he chatted, expressive hands waving and looking very much like the Blair of old. He wasn’t at all jealous, knowing that it was just Blair’s way. He was, and always would be a ‘people person’, despite the atrocities he had seen and endured, but it had no bearing on his love and commitment to Jim. Of that Jim was quite sure. 

Taking the opportunity to ponder on their situation now, Jim realised that even if things weren’t perfect yet, they were gradually getting there. 

Not long after Blair’s return, Rainier had been pressured into offering him a public, if grudging apology. Not only was the Board of Governors forced to admit that the Sentinel paper had never been submitted as Blair’s dissertation, but Chancellor Edwards’ premature release of his intellectual property had adversely affected police business. Added to that her cavalier dismissal of Sandburg from the university was highly contentious, and there had been a lot of pressure from Blair’s supporters for her to retract her decision. There was no question of reinstating Blair to his TA post even if he wanted such a thing, but it was agreed he would be allowed to re-enrol in the doctoral programme should he so wish. 

Shortly after that, and obviously hoping to avoid further adverse publicity about their own treatment of a man unexpectedly returned from captivity, Berkshire Publishing had also offered a reasonable out-of-court settlement for publishing extracts of Blair’s paper against his express wishes. Although advised that he could contest the offer, Blair decided that it wasn’t worth the aggravation and distress of a lengthy court case, which could end up in Berkshire Publishing’s favour anyway, so he took the money, grateful to be able to both pay off his student loans and put down a lump sum as his share of the cost of his and Jim’s new house. 

With a measure of financial security to tide him over, Blair was free to concentrate on getting fit and healthy again, and also on developing his new relationship with Jim. 

So now, some months down the line, Blair was well enough to start thinking about what he wanted for the future, and that had included getting that much-desired doctorate, but not with the Sentinel paper, and not at Rainier, with which university Blair had reluctantly severed all ties. When Jim had questioned him about his decision, a resigned but adamant Blair had replied sadly, “No, man. It’s not going to happen. Despite that apology, I’ll never be welcome there again. I’ve brought down far too much bad press on them for them to forgive me, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable there under their constant scrutiny.” 

Then, more up-beat, he had continued, “But there is another alternative, Jim, if it’s OK with you. See, I was looking at the possibility of enrolling in a distance learning programme to do a paper on something like the Criminal Justice System or Psychological Profiling. There’re a couple of options available at Florida U that might be suitable. All that experience I clocked up while working with you at the PD should stand me in good stead. Hey! I might even do that ‘Thin Blue Line’ thing after all!” and he had burst out laughing at the comical grimace that crossed Jim’s face at that notion. 

And so it had happened, with Blair being accepted and about to begin his new course of study in the Fall. 

Jim was pleased for his lover, glad that he had been granted another chance as he considered that no one deserved those three letters after their name as much as Blair. And as Blair had pointed out, it still left him plenty of time to help Jim in the development of their new business venture, which was the other major turning point in their lives.  


\-----------------------------------  


With Simon’s death, there had of necessity been major changes at the PD, not all of them to Jim’s liking. Although he was more than happy that Joel had been confirmed in the position of Captain of Major Crimes, he was increasingly uncomfortable at the attitude of many of the PD’s personnel towards him personally. Certainly his colleagues in Major Crimes were as supportive as ever, but more and more spiteful rumours about the nature of his relationship with Simon had begun to circulate, fuelled by new ones – or rather, re-hashed ones – about his relationship with Blair. 

For himself, Jim couldn’t care less about such small-minded bigotry, but he was concerned that such deep-seated intolerance could potentially have adverse effects on his ability to do his job, and in particular, might compromise the safety of anyone with whom he was partnered. Despite the PD’s supposed open-minded acceptance of alternative lifestyles and vociferous denunciation of racial and religious prejudice, it still existed within the ranks and there was always the spectre of late arriving or non-existent backup to consider. 

Added to that was Jim’s desire to concentrate on his and Blair’s well-being, and the fact that there were other ways to utilise his gifts to benefit the tribe, so he decided that it was time to make a break from police work. 

He recalled that night in the loft when he had explained his decision to Blair, sitting pressed closely together on the sofa in front of the TV. Blair had just returned from his first session with Dr Blackwell, and was understandably distracted and anxious. Jim hadn’t wanted to add to his new lover’s worries, but he knew there was nothing to be gained by withholding information that would drastically affect both their lives. Turning to cup Blair’s still pale and troubled face in a warm palm, he had done his best to reassure the younger man that he was perfectly happy with his choice. 

“You have to understand, babe, that none of this is your fault, so there’s no need for you to feel guilty on my behalf. Simon and I chose not to make our relationship public knowledge for the reasons I just outlined, but that’s never stopped the rumour mill before. Hell, there was enough conjecture about you and me for a long time, and we weren’t even doing anything then. More’s the pity!” he had added with a wry grin. 

“Anyway, there’s no way I would want any potential partner’s blood on my hands because of some bigot’s prejudice, and Incacha didn’t say that our contribution to the tribe’s welfare had to be via the PD. And to be truthful, Chief, I’m pretty much disillusioned by the whole setup and would relish the chance to tackle something new. Some enterprise where it wouldn’t matter if the question of my sentinel senses came up. And something where we could work together to fulfil our shared destiny if Incacha’s prophesy is to be believed. 

“So, do you want to hear what I’ve come up with?” 

And with Blair’s somewhat bemused but eager assent, he had revealed all. 

With his father’s enthusiastic backing, Jim had looked into the possibility of setting up a private security service, consulting with client companies and private individuals as to the appropriate levels of security necessary for their respective premises and eventually expanding to provide security cover for major events and exhibitions. With his expertise in working with much of the necessary hardware carried over from his military service, particularly in covert ops, as well as his years as a senior detective he was in a good position to offer expert advice. It certainly didn’t hurt that his father’s many contacts in the business world could influence potential customers to seek him out, and the fact that he could apply his senses as and when necessary would be a major bonus. 

He knew that it wouldn’t happen overnight, and actually didn’t want it to as there were plenty of other issues to take care of in the meantime, but the goal was to have a well-established business set up and running within the next year. 

However, he had no intention of setting out along that path without Blair’s full agreement, because he needed the younger man’s help and support in setting such an enterprise up. He wanted his guide as a full partner; otherwise the venture wouldn’t get off the ground. Blair was much better at the personal side of things, and as far as administration was concerned, his familiarity with paperwork, computer systems and the internet far exceeded Jim’s. His input would be invaluable and not just a sinecure to make him feel wanted. Jim just had to convince him of that. 

As it happened, Blair had listened carefully to his plans, and had agreed to abide by Jim’s decision. In truth he was glad that his sentinel and lover would no longer be in the line of fire, and yet could still use his gifts to help those who needed them as the business grew. 

And the fact that Jim had made it obvious that he needed and welcomed Blair’s contribution had boosted the younger man’s confidence no end. 

After that, things had moved rapidly, beginning with Jim handing in in his resignation. Joel was sorry to see him go, but understood his reasons only too well. Now that Jim’s senses were back, he needed his guide at his side if he was to use them to the full, and there was no way Blair would ever be able to ride with him again even if he was well enough to do so. The Powers that Be might want to keep their ‘secret weapon’ of Jim’s abilities, but they weren’t prepared to accept Blair other than as a cop, and that wasn’t going to happen. 

Jim actually spent very little of his statuary notice period at work, since he had accrued a substantial amount of leave, and what time he did have to work was spent on desk duty, Joel having no intention of putting him at unnecessary risk for both his and Blair’s sakes. And when he actually left for the last time, he was surprised by the number of people who genuinely seemed sorry to see him go. Having said that, he knew that he wasn’t severing all ties with his colleagues, since Joel fully intended to use the new partnership’s expertise on a consultancy basis should they ever need Jim’s input at difficult crime scenes. No need to waste the opportunity of using their on-call local ‘organic crime lab’. 

During that period they had found and bought their new home, and designated a large room to fit out as their office, and that was now nearing completion. The company was registered, the headed paperwork printed, Blair was working on their website, and ‘Ellison and Sandburg Security Services, Inc.’ was pretty much good to go.  


\--------------------------------  


Jim broke off his reverie, seeing that Blair had finished chatting with his new acquaintances and was turning to retrace his steps to where Jim was waiting, cheerful farewells exchanged and approving glances following in his wake. His smile was wide, beautiful and just for Jim as he approached, the sunlight behind him highlighting his hair, worn shorter now but still curling in abundance around his face. Yes, there were a few streaks of grey at the temples now, but still plenty of the chestnut and dark gold hints that teased sentinel sight and elicited a warm curl of affection in Jim’s heart. 

“Hey, man, did you see Jenny and Cathy’s dog? He’s called a ‘Labradoodle’ – neat, huh? A cross between a Labrador and a poodle. Can we have a dog, Jim? Not necessarily one of those, but maybe a rescue dog? I mean, we’ve got the ground now, haven’t we?” 

Grinning, Jim held up his hand. “Whoa, Chief! Breathe, buddy!” he said, but the affection in his expression and tone took any sting out of his admonishment. 

“Perhaps once the place is fully finished, hey? If that’s what you want, I don’t see why not.” And he was rewarded by an even wider smile and a positive bounce. 

“Oh, man! That’d be great! I always wanted a dog, but we moved around too much. I love you, man!” and Blair leaned down to hug Jim warmly, uncaring of the reactions from any watchers or passers-by. 

And Jim returned the hug, enormously glad to see his lover so unaffectedly happy and optimistic. Yes, Blair was definitely on the mend. He would never again be the ebullient grad student of their first acquaintance, but he was improving daily, thanks to his inner core of strength and determination. Determination to fulfil his role as companion to his sentinel, and lover of Jim the man. 

And a grateful Jim knew that at last he was worthy of that love, having come to terms with his senses, and welcoming the gift of Blair’s devotion with all his heart. 

And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to love and protect the man in his arms, now and forever.  


**THE END.**


End file.
